The Phantom Roads
by GrinningDog
Summary: A werewolf and a fortune teller. Two lives caught in a war eternally retold, two lives so doubtlessly changed.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Phantom Road

Given what his mind had so vehemently chosen, it would seem no less than fitting for him to be in this place, in this moment, in this situation. On the many times he's been close to death's taking, he has been outspoken about the major consequence of the life he's led. As his pride would have it, he would have claimed this fate every time to come as no surprise, from rivers away even. But now, in this place, in this moment and situation – each time he would have been mistaken, hence why he inevitably has become prey to the unexpected. Yes, there is fear in his heart, for more than one a reason. In this unnatural vulnerability, the past returns to life.

Arles, France. Where it all began.

The sunset had given way to a very lively night, quite an exceptional kind of energy flowing through every portion of the city for such simple lives of the common folk. The day was extraordinary, the story was not. Her beauty and aura had attracted a decent number of customers, each with open purse and words for her to look into the foreseeing ether are reveal her knowledge. They all said before and they all said on that day that they longed for the truth.

In her very own dealing of the trade, she would comply to reveal what these misguided wills pursued. No honey would exit her mouth, but only what the truthful ires within her soul would show.

"Red velvet you coat your desire with. A curtain your longing merely is. Do not ambition to find him patiently waiting behind. You may reach out, but behind velvet he is not. He waits behind another curtain, for somebody else."

Her customer's reaction was all too similar to what she had seen before.

"You, lying whore!" She was called once more. In response to her indifference, the woman threw the contents of the cup on the table at her. With wine all over her face, she saw the enraged woman leaving her table.

Such infantile reaction was met with mild annoyance. It is odd to her, that this kind would invest so much money in knowledge they so often despise. The elder who paid for her service on the day before was given the knowledge that his beloved grandson would not survive his illness. It puzzled her to be given gratitude for what she imparted; for a man to thank at knowledge that would bring him heartache beyond measure was beyond her. So many things were - her very own past among them.

The night appeared especially charming to her. The red wine washed her palate and left behind the subtle spice of the meat she had eaten. Of the small and limited comforts she knew was her choice for the night.

But all good things come to pass. The presence of three men standing behind her at the inn's balcony was one more link in a chain of predictable events. This time, there was no loud and public persecution, but discreet witch hunters are witch hunters all the same.

Though her body was capable of fighting prowess, she was essentially backed into a corner. In order to put up an effective defence, she would need to alter the battlefield. These men expected for to weep and beg, to offer her desirable body in hopes of getting away with her life in exchange for her innocence; naturally, their perspective was starkly challenged when she leapt from the balcony and into the street below.  
>In the air, her cloak had her resemble a moth. With the extent of her agility, the landing was clean and gave enough a chance to run and find a place where she had the right set to fight back. Nevertheless, the sea of merchants, children and night lovers was as much of a temporary shelter as it was a hindrance. In the faceless crowd however, she had enough of a chance to arm her hand with trusty steel claws: effective and graceful to support her main asset.<p>

An empty alley was ahead, a place where she could use the full splendour of her combat skill. Within few seconds, her pursuers were on sight; within a few more, they were ready to make their assault.

Quattor Orbis, a mere crystal ball in the eyes of most, lethal magical weapon always responding to her command in reality. When the witch hunters saw the sphere glowing and levitating in the air, they managed to keep their menacing demeanour, but they anticipated defeat at the hands of a seemingly unlikely predator. She could see it in their eyes.

With her agility, the swipes of her claw and the strength of her faithful orb, the witch hunters were made quick work of. She had faced many more threatening pursuers before, but the situation was highly unpractical this time. Sleepless for a week short of a day, her body was already rather tired.

She had only seen three men. And suddenly, she could not see anything anymore, nor breathe or yell. Strong glove-clad hands were completely covering her face, muffling every sound she could conjure. She needed concentration to summon Orbis but her mind was a storm, she tried freeing herself by using her claws, but the strength of her captor was not the same as the others. She had only seen three at first, then she knew there was one more, her instinct now told her the number had increased.

Whatever weakness had taken shelter in her heart had soon yielded to cold anger; though her agility and fighting aptitude were quite above a young woman's, her raw strength was not. All she could do was struggle and decipher the sounds coming both from afar and soon nearby.

Steel… a blade… though not a vulgar weapon like theirs. This one made no sound of being unsheathed. This was not the regular concealable cutlass, but something heavier - though by the sound it produced, it was handled with more skill than her captors. In spite of this new swordsman clashing with them, there was no telling if he was on her side.

The grip of the foul man on her tightened, prepared to take her from the fray. In pressing Viola's face harsher, his hands were sloppy and gave her enough a chance to free herself from his grip and slash his eyes in.

The young woman, now free and able to defend herself noticed that she had not even escaped from half the assassins sent for her. Twelve were still too many for her. But she was not alone, the newcomer swordsman looked at full disposition to fight at her side, she could sense that as well as she could sense that he had killed recently.

Five of the twelve survived that night. A mere handful left with severed limbs and ears, even fewer left with a vehement will to quit the unsavoury hunting life for good. For them there was no injury greater than a small bruise on her stomach and a mild cut behind his shoulder

She wiped the dust from her clothes in silence all the while she thought to herself of a new destination to look to. North to colder lands, west to Spain or east into the Mediterranean. In either case, she needed to travel with a low profile – Quite difficult of a task when silver hair and red eyes mark her as unique.

She momentarily discarded her thoughts and turned to look at the swordsman. In spite of her usual detachment she had as nature towards every man and woman, her pride wasn't a hindrance to do something as fair as thanking him.

In the dark alley, the first she saw of the man were silver patches shining on his hair quite unruly. Under the full moon, his height was a powerful symbol of the man towering above her. His factions were still hidden in the darkness, but what was not spoken or seen told her well about him. His body was strong, and a little spice in his sweat hinted of something other than mere physical work. This man led a warrior's life, and his musk was testament to something unnatural to men of the age.

Rather than saying her part and a farewell, her curiosity was stirred at the otherworldly aura this man gave off. What she could read in everybody was invisible in him.

With the young woman approaching, he spoke with a deep though youthful voice. "One at a time, small progress may seem futile, but even a small pebble can cast big ripples." His eyes, still hidden by the shadows looked at her "Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

She knew he was smiling, and though she understood exactly what he meant, she stayed silent for a moment. "Do you hail from the same cursed continent as I do?"

He nodded and spoke. "That fiend… Graf Dumas. His purge of the so called 'malfested' has taken so many lives, and I would have no problem with that, where they lives of lunatics and criminals as opposed to innocent ones. Many of them can't fight back, but fortunately some of us can. It is nice to encounter someone with skill and mindset to do as well; it could've gotten really nasty back there if I hadn't had some help… What's your name?"

The silence prevailed in the young woman, she tried to remember the last time she told anybody her name. Usually it was an experience which necessity she often questioned, but on this occasion she felt strangely pleased to say her identity. "Viola"

"Viola" he repeated. "I think I like it. I am Z.W.E.I. But you can call me Z.W.E.I. It is short for Z.W.E.I."

Viola was reluctant to show, but she was rather amused. "Z.W.E.I. I don't need inquire on Selene to know that is not your authentic name."

"No, it isn't. Names can be a burden sometimes." Silence ensued and for a moment, Z.W.E.I. regretted having let that slide, so he decided to press into matters of more importance. "Well, let's see it."

"See what?" She asked.

"You know what I mean. And I certainly don't mean what those men were also after." He was met with her reluctance, as he knew she perfectly understood what he asked. Viola herself was rather surprised at her compliance when her hand reached out to the end of the alley, beckoning Quattor. The purple light was discreet but its slow approach was something that mystified the man before her. He definitely needed to see it to believe it.

As Quattor Orbis was floating within the grasp of her hands, the orb gave enough light for both to see each other's faces. During that moment, nothing was about the malfested or his mission. She saw his face and stared deeply into his blue eyes and stern, though flattering factions. He in turn looked into her big red eyes. That is a moment that would stay unspoken of, but both of them knew how undying an image as that truly is, when a trance is beckoned and seconds defy their role in time.

Suddenly his expression changed into a starkly different face. "I must get you out of here. Dumas' men have made a big move into France. They are too many." Viola was struck then out of her trance and her expression changed as well as if she had been forcefully pulled from the shelter of much needed sleep.

"I don't think I could simply wander forever." She said.

"We don't have much of a choice. You don't want to die, do you?" He asked, and against what he had expected, she stayed silent. He quickly turned to look at her, visibly angered. Staring in silence for a few moments, he simply said "You do know you are coming with me, right?"

Viola could have been aggravated at this gesture, but what occupied most of her thought was his inclusion in her road. What could that mean when she could not look into his soul and his intentions were a wild river rushing into an uncharted sea? For swift escape's sake, she discarded the thought quickly and summoned Quattor to her side; she concealed it within her cloak and sealed her agreement. "... There is illusion of a choice, if this proves truth of a choice, then I will go with you"

Z.W.E.I. nodded "I usually have no need for much sleep. So we'll be travelling quite a fair while. I hope you caught enough sleep, because I won't carry you on my arms." Under the moon she saw him with a discreet smile as he seemed to have calmed.

"I am sure there won't be need for that" She said, quite aware of how likely the possibility would prove to be, so there may indeed be need for him to carry her. She also failed to notice her own voice was smoothing when she talked to him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Kindred Spirits

It had been three days since they met. Their soonest destination was Grasse to the east, but rather than following the trail into the Mediterranean, they had been instinctively avoiding Dumas' hunters. Z.W.E.I. was fairly sure that for a considerably long time, they'd be pursued and ambushed; it was likely that word got through of the initial attempt's failure; efforts would surely be doubled to get their heads. Despite of how the two of them easily stood out in almost every manner possible, they had managed to stay on a low profile.

Viola found it most strange how the simple sight of each other's faces revealed something so vague yet strong enough to impose itself over everything else. But only on the dawn of the day that followed, while they took a brief rest at an abandoned church between towns, that she actually noticed Z.W.E.I.'s appearance: Leather sleeveless coat, leather trousers and leather gloves – all as dark an attire as the colours of her own dress and hood. Her own jewellery of red motif was replaced in him through boots lined with fur and chains adorning the might of his presence. She was also quick to notice the large tattoo of a crescent moon on his chest. Such a thing never comes without meaning, whether she'd find that meaning any time soon, only time would tell.

The afternoon soft and fiery lights filtered through the mildew and the dust on the windows of the church. Colours mixed with the filter of tainted glass gave a strange beauty to everything inside the abandoned sanctuary. She would rarely ever stray from the more commercial places where she honed and dealt her trade, but the allure of the forest always intrigued her, since she has conception of "always" anyway.

Ideally she'd have come here alone; the thought of sharing the ambience with someone of untrained thought or vulgar eyes repulsed her. Though even when this strange man before her, sitting on the neglected floor and serenely eating an apple in a manner that didn't fit the balance of this place, was little more than an acquaintance, his presence was not like anybody else's.

Her eyes would at times get lost in the light coming from the windows, only to shift back at Z.W.E.I. and the small piece of apple that was stuck next to his lip; he didn't seem to notice it. Perhaps he was simply too focused on biting the apple as loud as he could and savour the juice with all of his being, it was evident that he greatly enjoyed his culinary experience.

"Z.W.E.I. Where are we headed for?" Viola asked. It was not like her to speak this much, or for her to express so plainly. There was no room for softness and euphemism when their lives were gambled on the right decisions.

In between jaw motions, Z.W.E.I. took the time to think his answer. He was just as concerned as Viola was. "I believe Venice would be a start. Too much of a commerce flux for Dumas' men to take a risk, and good enough a checkpoint in the Silk Road." As his voice and mind would have it, reminisce came over him about the luxuries and vices of Venice. Though perhaps not from Dumas' assassins, hazard was still likely to catch up with them in such a fiery city.

Viola's eyes still somewhat lost in the sights of the church expressed absence of mind to a possible permanence in Venice and with a string of a voice, weakened still by the weariness of the traveller asked "And then?"

In that moment, Z.W.E.I. stopped eating and looked at Viola, still with a piece of fruit on the corner of his mouth. Whatever could have she meant by that? Could she have been referring to an eventual following destination or something else…? There was not a reason for him to think any otherwise, why would he then feel such apprehension, other than the foul smell of pursuers nearby?

"They're here" Viola anticipated his own words. She must have felt them coming from a while ago.

Z.W.E.I. discarded his apple and got firm a hold of Kreuzgriff. His acute sense of hearing and smell prepared him for the direction they'd burst in, and the number. Around twenty men this time, but much more light paced – probably more agile and apt assassins this time. Viola got on her feet, as she clearly was not too tired to fight; she summoned Quattor to her grasp and held it in place, looking at the north window – that is where the first ones would come through. The potential energy of the sphere held back within her control ached to be liberated.

In a few mere fractions of a second, she "shot" the orb towards the upper window in the centre as soon as five assassins broke in through the old crystal veil. They certainly did not expect such a pre-emptive strike, the impact was strong enough to shatter the chest of the one that got directly hit, and the momentum would also harm the other four. Viola, with her best effort summoned Quattor back as soon as she could.

But it took longer and harder than usual because of the exhaustion. Z.W.E.I. himself was exhausted. Taking a chance with these men under these conditions was taking too big a risk. They both could take on double the number, but the last three days of walking and climbing walls had been entirely sleepless and with little feeding. This only called for something else than his raw fighting abilities.

Both he and Viola did their best to keep the most men at bay. Viola, however was concerned to see his strength held back constantly during the fight. The strength swiftness of his swordsmanship looked deliberately toned down. As soon as he was struggling with seven of them on his half of the fray, she realized what he was doing, he was rounding them up… but for what purpose? He evidently intended to eliminate a good number at once, but the means of doing so were not what she or anyone could expect.

"Show'em who's boss. Come forth…" he spoke with a grave and daring voice.

E.I.N.!

From thin air, she saw it come into the material world with a silver and blue thunderous aura searing around itself and Z.W.E.I.'s hands. It was a creature from another world, ethereal and very much physical at the same time. A floating spirit emanating with strength and menace, with perilously strong constitution and a lupine head; a crescent groove grown from its' back marked him in stone of memory as a symbol, a concept, a beast. This was not a malicious presence and nevertheless it frightened her, but if it inspired fear in her, it certainly would inspire terror on their attackers.

Z.W.E.I., Viola and E.I.N. made quick work out of the assassins. Unlike last time, none of the attackers was able to leave the aftermath of the encounter. The ones that survived the fight were either crippled physically or crippled mentally. As for the rest, death saved them from seeing such a beast in dreams for the rest of the lives they could have lived.

At Z.W.E.I.'s command, E.I.N. vanished back into the ether. He looked reasonably worn out and his breathing showed forced and agitated. Viola looked at him from a distance, hesitating to come near for the energy continued to linger in the area. "What was that?" she asked.

"That is E.I.N. … Think nothing of it" he said, feeling rather annoyed at her reaction.

Viola, unlike the rest who have seen it, stayed on the spot. Though astonished, she was left undisturbed within an instant. Looking into his eyes, she discarded her hesitation and walked towards him. Her eyes didn't drift from his as her hand reached to his chest, to his tattoo. Before she could touch it, his hand stopped hers as firmly as he could without being aggressive. Tranquil, he shook his head in denial. "Don't" He said.

"I knew it. You… are like me, but this is beyond what I could have seen." Viola said to him. Her voice, smooth as Riesling grapes, hinted anticipation and serenity.

Z.W.E.I. put her hand down. "We are kindred spirits, you and I. We're both hunted; we're both blessed and accursed by a role we can't run away from, or won't run away from."

Viola's hand, though free from his grip did not let go of his hand. "You and I. Touched by the moon." Behind her eyes, curiosity and admiration bloomed; within her core, warmth came to be, for she felt for the first time in her life that she belonged. Her hand held his, stronger now. "I'll go wherever you want us to."

Z.W.E.I. nodded in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Turin – First Night

Five more days had passed since the last significant encounter with Dumas' assassins. A handful of lesser ambushes took place within that time, and each attempt was fought off with increasing ease, casualties decreased all the while crippling ends were met by every lackey who pursued the ominous pair. Z.W.E.I. believed the Hungarian mercenary ways were getting old and predictable, quite unlike the versatile strikers of India and China, or the sheer strength of the brawlers from the northern islands. These assassins were probably much more effective against every other sign of "malfested", but not against Viola and he.

On the other hand, it could also be that they were getting accustomed to each other's presence, the bond strengthening necessarily implied becoming adept at fighting together, but there was more to it than just that.

On that day, they had stepped into Turin, city of high walls. The proximity to the peninsula was enough for a moderate amount of commerce and traffic to fill the streets, though still nowhere as bustling as the cities Viola would usually travel to.

Though walking together and target of the curious eyes of the rows of people on the streets, each was moving absentminded, submerged in their own respective thoughts. So pensive was their stride that they cared little if they called unnecessary attention towards them. Even if eventually there would be a bounty on their heads out in the open, that moment was absolutely carefree though not in the most favourable sense of the word. Z.W.E.I. particularly had been too deep in his mind that he failed to notice that Viola had stopped walking. Not even as he heard his name called from afar did he look behind.

It was his own instinct that he neglected to heed what pulled him out of his trance. He looked back restless only to find the small figure of Viola standing in the distance, partially blocked from sight by a row of merchants. She didn't move from her spot as she saw him turning back and making his way back to her.

"Sorry… I… "His words were left unfinished as he looked at her ruby eyes, lost in the distance and bitterly adorned by black circles around them.

"Z.W.E.I.? I need to rest. I am tired, and so are you." Viola was perfectly able to see that in spite of how proud and witty he'd rather make himself appear. Their drifting pace was the exhaustion of the hunted and the warriors, something fabled by the neophytes and resented by the adept when coming at times of inconvenience.

She drifted away from the stream of people into a bench nearby, Z.W.E.I. sat next to her. She was visibly at the mercy of her exhaustion.

"We could stay here for the night. I could get something else for you, if you want." He said. Viola seemed to have fallen asleep at first; her head resting on her hands gave no sign or hint otherwise, or maybe she didn't quite hear him, though in either case he continued to insist. "Come on, what would you like?" He pressed further to catch her attention. In the end she pulled herself out of her lapse and looked at him with a strange shine in her weary eyes.

She sighed. "I want red wine and tender meat. I want oil for my hands. I want to sleep on a bed… and dream" Her voice sounded now equally as weathered. He looked at her rather surprised but not showing any sign of being amused. "As days pass, moon and sun ask for us to greet with a new face… I need something new to wear, and so do you."

Z.W.E.I. opened his mouth to speak but he cut himself before conjuring any words. This was rather unexpected, but there was no loss in granting what she asked, even him wearing something new – which could come in handy to prevent suspicion. "We could get all those things before nightfall if we go at it right now." He got closer to her and spoke by her ear. "You don't want me to carry you, do you? I will if I must."

She looked at him and smiled with discretion. It was not like her to react this way to anybody, but it was also not like her to spend this much time with anybody. Being in a completely unknown territory, in more than one sense, she can only rely on instinct and nature.

A few hours later, the market had fully settled on the Turin streets. The people were coming and going in every direction, the rhythm of the commerce was much more agile in lieu of the storming flux of larger cities. Smaller numbers and the occasion had summoned a heavy number of merchants from Middle Asia and the Baltic. The process for Viola and Z.W.E.I. to get a new second skin was swift and the results were more than satisfactory. If such a devious pair entered the city of high walls with the attire of strange and dangerous individuals, their new appearance remained with such features, but held undeniably charming tints as well.

Z.W.E.I retained the wolf motif through silver ornaments on the belt and at the centre of a black and olive number, something typically seen amongst the brawlers of Vilnius far to the northeast of the continent. He had taken great concern to adopt the military demeanour and pace, so the small things like the red tight shirt's collar clinging to his chin only served to make him look more imposing, like a general or an alpha huntsman.

As for Viola, she had chosen something more familiar into her craft. An amalgam of the rural style of Romania and the enchanting feel of the Indian femme clothing was her choosing. She had taken some time to piece together this number, and in the eyes of the people around the tent she could see the several different reactions to this taste. The floral dress, the brown silk Indian trousers, the folklore of the Romanian way through olive and burgundy around her waist and arms, the circlet and veil, her silver hair in the open for the wind to caress; alluring would be an understatement.

Z.W.E.I. did not look at her in the same fashion as most males she has seen throughout her life, but he was indeed impressed, and in that moment he was glad she had asked for them to get new clothes. Viola herself did not know if he had taken a deeper liking to her or the moon ornaments she had so carefully chosen, but she felt rather uncomfortable at how he was looking at her. For peace's sake, Z.W.E.I. fell back into this usual demeanour.

He had still more money with him, fruit of multiple odd jobs he had taken for the last months and none of which he had substantially spent until that moment. A stay for the night at a local inn and a fine dinner would certainly be within the possible.

Viola couldn't possibly know, but these cares, gestures and spending were not too different from the custom of a man courting a woman, Z.W.E.I. certainly knew it. As the two of them were sitting at the dining hall of the inn, waiting for "red wine and tender meat" as she desired, he felt uncomfortable at how the custom looked faithfully executed by the two, though unwittingly. In the eyes of the patrons nearby, it was a mercenary or a wandering officer from the east with a gypsy or a pale silver-headed apsara, something of the sort he had often heard in music and poetry. Soon, Viola herself noticed the same thing and for most of the meal, she didn't look at Z.W.E.I.

Both, in silence tried to eat as quickly as they decently could. It was clear that Viola simply took the chance to feed herself to calm her hunger, but did not enjoy it nearly as much as she normally did; the red meat was juicy but lacked spice and aroma, and the wine was mediocre at best.

After they finished dining, long deserved rest called.

Viola was quite sure he wouldn't suggest anything. "You take the bed; the chair cuts it well for me." He told her as soon as they entered the room. She knew how tired he was; nevertheless she was relieved he was so quick and willing to give her the space she was accustomed to. Sharing the bed with anyone was unacceptable for her, sharing it with a man was completely out of question or thought.

"Please, get out for a moment. I will let you know when you can come back in." She told with haste. Viola had no intention of staying awake any minute longer that night, this rest was very much needed and she was not to spend it with such an outfit on. He gave no complaints and calmly walked out, giving her time to undress.

When she was ready, her clothes were by the bed and she was already wrapped with the sheets. Without even turning to face the door, she called him back in. "Please extinguish the lamp soon" she said, her voice was not free of apprehension. It appeared he complied quickly and took little time to prop himself ready to sleep. The light of the oil lamps was dimming until the only light was of the night outside, still young and busy.

Viola was gripping the sheets tight around her, covering her face and shutting her eyes with such vehemence to try and summon sleep - yet unable to calm herself, only weariness remained. It may have been a few minutes, hours or countless nights of a static moon before she succeeded and her eyelids gave in heavily.

After that, there is no telling for how long she was asleep. Her curse chose to intrude when she was at the most vulnerability. Like a spark yielding to an explosion, her eyes opened suddenly as terror crept inside her skull. She choked on her own breath, contained within a scream to seal the vile intent of the cold sweat that stayed on her skin, sliding from her lower back, all the way to her buttocks and thighs.

Her visions had never come to her in sleep and they have never been as horrifying as what she had just seen in her dream. Clutching the sheet against her lips, she held back tears as little by little, her voice appeared again through almost inaudible whimpers.

"Z.W.E.I…. Z.W.E.I…. Z.W.E.I.!... Wake up… please, wake up… Z.W.E.I."

Inhaling and exhaling deep and quick, a sobbing would soon overcome her will. Her eyes of ruby stayed on the sleeping figure on the chair in the corner of the room. Too far away and too dark, too quiet... Too motionless.

Just as her strength ran out, she heard his voice.

"Sorry, my sleep is always a heavy one. Do you need something?" he said, slurring.

There was no use in crafting a façade to hide her fear. She was sure that as he came to his senses, he'd smell it. For her to spend this much time with anybody was so strange, it was not like her to concern about anything… or anyone.

"Z.W.E.I., you are too far away. You need to be closer." She asked of him to come closer, but they very well knew he should not get too close. He was rather confused but heeded her call and at the best of his understanding, he lifted the chair and placed it closer to the bed. "No, closer". Still half asleep, Z.W.E.I. placed his chair a few inches closer.

"Z.W.E.I. Please…" her troubled voice demanded the chair to be right by the bed. Z.W.E.I was now more aware of her; despite the darkness of the room, he could see her eyes doing what she tried so hard not to do- begging.

He stayed silent, but he sat on the chair by the bed, just inches away from her. Viola had her wish granted and covered herself with the sheets once more, trying to fall back into sleep. He fell asleep almost instantly.

As few minutes later, she woke up again and turned to look at him. He slept like a puppy. She hesitated for a moment but she decided to reach out and place her hand on his. Just having him close would keep this vision at bay.

"A nightmare, it must been... just... a nightmare..." Her words he did not hear, sleep finally came over and stayed. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Turin – Second Night

The morning arrived with a breeze and a sky painted with several shades of gray and blue. Viola still slept, and through what Z.W.E.I. could see in a gap on the mess of sheets, she was serene and peaceful, absolutely different from the disturbing moment of the night before. It could have been a lapse of a too realistic dream that found its way inside his head, but finding Viola's small pale hand stretched out as if she was calling out for him, banished any doubt.

Without the light of the oil lamps, the room looked exceptionally ominous. It was his kind of place, though being in here with someone else was an experience so very new to him; for whoever would share the path with him, would walk their own way before long – but not her. Not only has she been with him the longest, but he was also unwilling for her to stray from him. He could try to convince himself that it was pure pragmatic devotion to the duty he had taken upon himself, free from any sort of attachment, but as days are to come, he won't be able to believe that.

In truth, he was starting to see her progressively as a friend. And as the law of nature so dictates, friends help and care for each other. What happened the night the before can't be ignored, for someone as composed as Viola, it was not meant to show herself so vulnerable so quickly

But would she willingly open herself to him about this? The answer would come with time, when she'd wake up. He had woken up an hour earlier but Viola was still fast asleep; if he did the same now, she'd probably still be sleeping when he woke up. Z.W.E.I. started wondering if this was mere weariness.

There was no need for such a thing when Viola moaned and stretched as sleep was letting go of its grasp on her. Since the moment she fell back to sleep after feeling Z.W.E.I.'s proximity to her, it was soothing and repairing, and it was evident through her looks – relaxed and at ease. It was as if she had forgotten all about it; but turning to see the man on the chair, she quickly curled up to the corner of the bed and pressed the sheets against her. Even the glimpse of a thought of a man so close to her while she was at the most vulnerability greatly disturbed her.

Without letting go of the sheets pressed against her chest, she calmed down and read his eyes as he surely read hers. She was thankful but was unsure whether she should say anything.

Z.W.E.I. spoke ahead of her. "Are you OK?" Knowing how simple and vague his question was, he corrected himself and with a far warmer voice than his usual stoic tone, he said. "I am not going to ask you to tell me what happened to you, but I rarely am in any position to judge. You could use that if you need it, you know?"

She knew he had good intentions and his words were sincere, but it wasn't all that simple. "I don't remember... perhaps?" 'Perhaps' didn't sound as reliable as she would have it, but it was the best she could do. It has never been a problem before, and she's never needed anybody if it did turn out to be troubling for her, but things had changed so much now; lines were blurring between certainty and uncharted territory.

"I see. Can you at least tell me if it is the past or the future what made you so restless?" He asked.

"How do you know if it was either, and not the present?" She asked, interested in how he came to such a conclusion.

"All we could have in this moment is fear for our lives. But I don't sense that in you or me for that matter. In the present, we can fight and we can stay strong to eliminate anything in our way and survive indefinitely. We have no reason to fear this day. But the past is not a fiend we can defend against… and the future… well, you know what I mean, yeah?" he said. The absent look on his eyes during lack of fierceness and violence said something by itself, while his words aroused her curiosity further.

"It is both. I do not know where I come from, if I had a family or if I had a purpose. One night of a full moon festival, I simply… was. The way you see me now, with no links or bonds, only the knowledge of what my eyes could see and what my hands could do." Viola surprised herself when she told him this. It was something nobody has ever heard from her, but there was little anyone could boast of hearing from her lips, outside of her predictions. "What about you?"

"I don't know either, I am myself, not you" he remarked, earning a smile from her. "I just am, I guess. I know my past, but there is not much to it."

"How about family, are you far or close to them?" she asked.

"Both, you could say. But come now, you don't need to cogitate over that. There are much fancier things to do. I recall we got almost all you wanted, we're still missing the oil for your hands." He quickly disregarded the subject, but Viola felt increasingly curious, she continued to insist.

"Z.W.E.I. You can tell me… I-"

"There are lots of varieties we could find; there is olive oil, grape oil maybe? Who knows, we may even find avocado oil in this market" He continued.

"Z.W.E.I.!"

"That is as far as my oil knowledge goes. What kind of oil did you have in mind?"

"Listen Z-"

"We have all day, really. I am sure we will find it." He said, obviously amused and waiting for her to get the hint.

She sighed at his reluctance; she was trying to be as caring as he had been for all the time they were travelling together. However, another thought quickly took leadership. "Shouldn't we make haste to Venice?"

He stood from the chair and continued. "I don't see a reason why we shouldn't rest for one more day. We'd do well in buying some supplies also, to make this trail more manageable. Now, get dressed, noon is getting old." He made his way out of the room and closed the door behind him. Patience was not his forte, but waiting for Viola would exercise it.

Viola, now alone in the room, remained silent for a few seconds. She felt so strange about the situation, but wasn't completely against it, Z.W.E.I. had a sound head on his shoulders about the matters at hand, but he was also thoughtful and caring to her. She got out of bed, picked up her clothes and placed them on the bed. Before getting dressed, she looked at herself in a small mirror nearby for an instant, at her pale skin and her factions, her red eyes and the thickness of her lips so voluptuous looking. With her gaze still fixated on the reflection, her hands pressed slightly against her chest slid down to her stomach, the tips of her fingers barely touched her skin and her nails grazed with cold and shiver.

Index and middle fingers traced the curves of her hips, hovered over her privates hidden behind white silk undergarments and went below to her inner thighs. At this moment, she took deeper attention at how desirable her own self was. He didn't appear to be after her flesh, but she swallowed at the thought of how desirable his own flesh looked. There was no point in yielding room for attraction, but would she be surprised if it came to be?

Biting her lip, she discarded the thought; she was to make haste to get attired but was careful in how she put it together. With one final gaze at the mirror, the veil over her mouth would do wonders to hide her unease during these moments, but perhaps he could smell it, so she'd have to control her thoughts and sensations.

The rest of the day felt renewed and refreshing. They had bought all they needed for the following days, several oils, balms and varieties of incense. Z.W.E.I. took mind to purchase ingredients for a drink that would keep them from getting too exhausted or weakened. Perhaps he'd take time to brew it after Viola had gone to sleep.

Night fell, and though dinner was only slightly better than the day before, they felt satisfied. The stars shone modestly yet greatly compensated for the lack of life outside, such a stark contrast from the youth of the previous night. Z.W.E.I. was on his chair, polishing his boots. Viola looked at him from the balcony from time to time. She could not deny his company felt comforting and agreeable.

Sleep would be just like the last time, but Z.W.E.I. was now on the chair next to the bed from the very beginning. With the sheets on her, the lamps turned off, her eyes were still open.

"Z.W.E.I. You are my friend, right?" she asked. She needed reassurance from him, so whatever otherworldly fiend preyed on her sleep would not shatter her strength.

"I am, Viola. Sleep well."

She smiled at him in the dark, tender and caringly. The wolf and the moon, protecting each other.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Storm Brews in the Distance

The morning of the following day found them peacefully awake and greeted by the same breeze. In spite of being pursued, they felt very much like two friends dear to each other, embarked on wanderlust; what pleasure was felt in such a thought quickly dispelled itself by the reality of the day – no place was yet safe for them to stay for longer, Z.W.E.I. knew that as long as Dumas lived, they would be hunted and his mission would need his strength. His abilities would still require honing, for everything indicated that the only way was for him to eliminate Dumas himself.

These thoughts held so very strong a hold on his life. The man behind the wit and strength was full of hatred, and Viola could see that; in the way his blue eyes lost themselves into a thousand yard stare, she could hear the roar of a world exploding; she could feel the intensity of a vengeance yearning to be fulfilled. The fire her heart could not harbour exceeded in his, to the point of vehemence that could burn his soul away.

This burden of an all-consuming detest was something she wished to rid him from. It was such a strange wish for a first friend in a lifetime, but from where she could see it, the road was longer than any distance she could have walked by herself.

Under her breath, she cursed her life. Her existence so devoid of distinguishable joys or sorrows left her emotions stranded in Limbo. If there were colours in her life, memories and experiences outside her endless wandering, she could know what to do. Could her company be a relief to him? Could his be to her?

Z.W.E.I. tried to appear calm to her, but his sudden restlessness was seen in his every movement, from how he walked to how his eyes travelled around the streets as they found themselves on the way to the east for Milan and eventually Venice. He had insisted Viola let him carry everything they had for the travel ahead, she complied so he would have something else to think about, though perhaps not even the weight of the clothes, the food, the wine and Viola's materials would pull him out of his hellish thoughts for long. She knew this, for she soon sensed a storm brewing in the path ahead.

In spite of the apprehension, Z.W.E.I. kept enough of his cool and wit to get transporting for Viola and himself, a courtesy from a merchant group who believed his story of being a soldier requiring assistance to return to the Motherland. Such a craft also prevented any movements any of them could plan to do on Viola, for no man with a brain, a heart and liver would try to take such a risk in the presence of an "Alpha Hussar".

Even if this service only served them for a few hours, he felt it would be better to stay as fresh and rested as possible. As time went by, the merchants proved to be of excellent use; two days in the wagons got them quite ahead in the journey and left them close enough to need only half a day of walking to arrive to Milan, their last checkpoint before Venice.

In the middle of the road, they chose to spend a few moments sitting on the grass to observe the dawn. Many a time, Viola had stayed sleepless for days to observe the stars, the movement of the clouds, the fog and the beginning of days; every time there was some sort of music or rhythm in the air, but now there was complete silence. Or rather, the music that Z.W.E.I. brought with him was completely foreign to her.

His eyes were still not at ease and they were certainly not watching the beauty of the birthing day. Viola turned to look at him, and now completely unable or unwilling to stay idle to the grip on her companion's psyche, she proceeded to do what she knew would help even if a little. Her hand rested on his right shoulder as she sat behind him; the giving of warmth and affection was an art she was a neophyte in, but her common sense gave her the safe and infallible grounds. With her left hand, she looked for his temples, somewhere under his silver marsh of hair; when she found it, she pressed little by little, in the way known to her only.

"What… are you doing?" He asked with a weary tone, as if he had just been pulled out of profound sleep.

"Do not speak. Let go off of your strength. As of now, frailness is your second tongue. There is nothing else within or without you, only black… deep black… formless. No river, no sea, no now, not ever." At this time Viola kept pressing on his left temple. Z.W.E.I. wasn't aware that her lips were so close to his ear, her voice sounded like thunder dressed in silk, pure tempest smiting him with a caress that takes all but his breath. The back of his tongue tasted to him like mead, his eyelids felt heavy but he felt so terribly awake. Though Viola's voice sounded powerful and unforgiving like a war Goddess, it was nothing more than a calm whispering in his ear. "Now, turn your head to your right"

He complied without knowing what he was doing, and all he saw was her hand resting on his shoulder. Her hand adorned by Indian cloth, her knuckles brandishing circles – the phases of the moon. New, Crescent, Half… Full. His consciousness, like the light of a candle, was blown into darkness.

Dreamless and timeless, there is no telling where he had gone for that time.

Z.W.E.I. opened his eyes and all he saw was a wooden ceiling above. There was no grass under him, only a soft though firm surface. The taste of mead in his mouth had gone and his hearing was starting to get back into sharpness. The smell of incense reached him quickly.

When he sat up, he found himself on a bed.

"It was high time you needed to sleep properly" Viola's voice, now so familiar and unique reached him. She was sitting on a chair by a table where she had her crystal ball propped, incense burning, decks of cards and a couple of books open. She looked at him with her chin resting on her hand. Her big red eyes looked with a neutral demeanour.

"What did you…? How did you do that?" He asked, mystified.

"I don't know" Was the only thing she told him before turning back to what she had been doing.

Z.W.E.I. scratched his head and little by little stretched himself all the while he yawned wearily. At that moment he noticed his feet were bare.

"Viola, how is it that I am barefoot?" he asked, but he received no answer from her. She was deliberately avoiding telling him about how is it they were in that place now.

Viola knew Z.W.E.I. was lupine natured in so many ways; the moon would show him the way back home, where only serenity and peace can exist. Viola would not tell him that she carried their supplies for a long way, all the while she used so much of her mental strength to carry Z.W.E.I. using Quattor Orbis. She was completely exhausted by the time they arrived to Milan.

The room they were in belonged to an inn, a far more decent one than where they stayed in at Turin. She paid for the room by lending her services to the inn's owner and several others. She did what she never had done before, she did not tell them the truth of what her vision revealed about them. Blessed by the gift of rhetoric and an enchanting expression, she read fortunes and told of marvels in a way only she could. In one of those occasions, she did not need to lie. For she saw in her crystal ball the future of a mother's still unborn child, how he'd become a powerful leader and an admirable gentleman, how his actions would change the world forever. The vision itself was overwhelming, but it earned her more than enough for the room and some more expenses.

Her reticence had one more reason to be. Her attachment to him was growing beyond her control. She did not want to lose him, to see him suffer, to feel him consumed by the mission he had taken upon himself. She's never a friend before, but she started to wonder if it was as simple as that. The thought terrified her, and yet she put him on the bed herself and removed his boots. She watched him sleep for as long as her restless mind allowed her to.

"Thank you." He said. She only nodded her head in response. "I toyed with the idea of me carrying you, when you ended up carrying me, eh?."

It was too much for her. Still in silence she blew off the candlelight on the table and rested her face on her hands. She wished for him to go back to sleep and to stop talking, otherwise, she'd feel tempted to talk back and to show how fragile she has become. The persona of indifference will only serve her for so long.

Z.W.E.I. stood from the bed and went over to the window. There was breeze outside and the black clouds were gathering. A storm was coming.

Something strange happened then. A strange smell in the air, something he could not quite put in place. He turned back to see Viola looking at him, she felt it too.

"Viola, we may stay here for longer. I have a feeling the gods will not have us leave soon." He said, back in his dark and brooding self.

She knew what he meant; she felt his concern for her. Now at his side, she looked at the clouds. "A storm is brewing..."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Omens in the Wind

A storm has never made either Z.W.E.I. or Viola shy away from duty or wanderlust, but the black clouds over Milan on that day were no ordinary thunder and water. The two travelers observed the darkness in the sky reflecting the darkness that each carried within; though it could have felt as if it echoed for each one, the message was clear in spite of being encrypted by the language of fate.

"The sky, under the rule of the sun, yet as black as a cat… it may not leave any window for the merciful light of the moon. I can feel something vile nearby" Viola's words were all too clear for Z.W.E.I.

"This really doesn't look like any storm front I've seen before. Would you say something else is at work here?" He turned to look at Viola, her expression was grim,

"Definitely"

Z.W.E.I. felt frustrated. His keen sense of smell could not deny nor confirm what Viola stated, but there was no need when his instinct pointed in the same direction as hers. He backed away from the window and let his weight fall harshly on the chair nearby. The ghastly feeling of anticipation crept inside his brain; surely the wrong kind of thoughts would take over soon enough, but such a thing never came to be as he looked at the objects on the table. They were Viola's.

He looked at the candles and the books, the tarot cards and the crystal ball, the oil and the incense, ashen lines on oak and strands of red thread. Her veil, her circlet, her moons. Z.W.E.I. then turned to look at her, still contemplating the ominous city landscape, his eyes remained on the line that divided her shoulders and head from the world that extends outside and beyond. On so many levels, the thoughts that followed left him confused.

He sighed and stood up from the chair, he walked back to the window and placed his hand on Viola's shoulder. "There may not be a point in dwelling over what is yet to happen. We must stay alert, but tension will likely stunt our efforts. Let us go downstairs for something to feast on. You are hungry after such a long day, yes?"

Viola turned to look at him, she shook her head in negative response.

"Wine?" His alternative was received just as poorly. "No?"

Viola arched her eyebrows in confusion. "Very well" She finally expressed.

Just like the condition of the room, the service and goods at the dining hall were better than Turin's. Viola ate slowly; her attention was mostly focused on Z.W.E.I. as he vigorously drank his second glass of beer. It was obvious from his eyes, speech and movement that the alcohol had no effect on him, or rather it would take a lot more to get him intoxicated or at ease for that matter.

Viola didn't know what to say, but he read the question in her expression."I could tell you that I missed the taste of it, but frankly I simply needed to get out of that room." He said before asking for a third glass. "I suppose my mind takes its toll sometimes."

Viola's silence gave way to loud words from one of the patrons at a table nearby. The man spoke to his companions about Dumas' purge. He was evidently drunk and grieving for a victim of the "cleansing", a life close to his and which loss left him absolutely bereft. Two of his peers followed in the topic. In great detail, one of them described a "Holy Warrior" with a lynx trophy and attire as white as compassion's color who took it upon himself to destroy the malfested. Opinions about this "Holy Warrior" were mixed, and what spoke against him made itself clear through the stories of the lives he had taken.

Like a stone cast into the water shatters the harmony of its surface, the words did not miss his ears and were not met with indifference. Silent now, his blue eyes became bloodshot in anger and hatred that he managed to keep bound, though it continued to burn his insides.

His third beer was brought to him shortly afterwards, but his mind was too poisoned with anger to mind his beverage.

Before his hand could even reach to take the glass to his lips, Viola quickly took the glass with both hands and drank hastily from it. Naturally, Z.W.E.I. was puzzled, and disturbed when he saw the foam sliding from the corners of her mouth and down her neck.

Half the glass drunk, she put it down and coughed repeatedly. There was foam all over her mouth and on the tip of her nose. Though the taste of the beverage was not unpleasant to her, its taste was something was not used to. Her expression was amusing to him.

He chuckled as she looked at him, proud of succeeding to pull him out of a trance of silent rage. That is when she herself laughed, and froze Z.W.E.I.'s expression in a state of marvel. The way her teeth showed in a wide smile and her cheeks shaped into voluptuous sides of a heart, how her eyes smiled along; he had never seen her like this.

"In due time, there will be a chance to deal with this white warrior." He thought to himself, for in the moment all that mattered was the young woman in front of him – her friend in the most faithful sense of the word. He asked for one more glass of beer by himself, if they had anything to celebrate for, it probably would simply be for the sake of being alive and the power to prevail over Dumas.

Viola used to feel it was not in her nature to smile or to laugh, but in that moment it felt like an instinct re-awoken after a long slumber. Little by little, momentum had its effect on Z.W.E.I. For a moment, he was someone different; he certainly looked like the proud persona of a Russian Hussar he's been using up until that point. The hatred and the anger had let go of his heart, and his own smile hinted a joy – presumable hailing from long gone days – that he could not conceal. She saw in him that days of happiness show through how he smiles. Being also the first time she has seen him smile, she was filled with wonder.

Afternoon black sky outside, warmth inside. Such a situation could be a metaphor for both of their lives as Z.W.E.I. came to think about it.

He did not let Viola finish the glass she had halved, but rather had her wait for him to be served the fourth glass. When he was served, he looked with sly eyes at Viola, knowing she has found what his intention was.

"It is Sunday, but our friends are right here. So the way of English Seamen is not cut out for this. What will it be, Viola?" He asked.

"I know what it will be, but I won't tell you just yet." Viola replied, she knew he'd trust her. She raised her glass. "Santé"

Z.W.E.I. raised his. "Zum Wohl"

They clinked their glasses together in a toast. Anyone who saw from a distance could induce that they were drinking to each other, and they were, in spite of each having dedicated the toast to health. They were thankful for having crossed paths, for their friendship and having brought some warmth to each heart. However, the atmosphere of festivity was altered by a furtive thought that sneaked up on Z.W.E.I.'s mind. He did not let his smile or movement to show any sign of it, but he fell victim to an ancient fear.

It was one of his flaws he hated the most, his tendency to overthink, to jump to conclusions. Such a terrible chain of thoughts had become alive that his mind had seemed to go away. When he came back to, Viola and he were still in the dining hall and their own festivity had passed along to every patron at the inn.

She was sitting next to him. Obviously and despite of the alcohol, she was well aware that something was wrong with him. In lieu of the night having fallen outside, she told him bluntly. "We need some rest. Please come with."

He did not argue.

As their custom was, Z.W.E.I. didn't need to be told to wait outside for Viola to get undressed. This time was different, however. She simply laid on the bed, without even taking off her shoes. Z.W.E.I. went over to the chair and made sure it was close enough to the bed.

"No. This is more spacious, I won't have you sleep on the chair." She said weary, she fell asleep.

Z.W.E.I. was left mystified. He reluctantly stood up and went over the bed, not before going over and granting Viola the same courtesy of removing her shoes; the simple act of doing so felt awkward to him. He sat on the bed and removed his boots.

He laid his back flat on the very edge of the bed. He would very much rather not get too close to Viola in such a context, but at least she won't able to say he did not sleep on the bed. With resolution and strength of mind, he kept his thoughts at bay enough for his eyelids to give in.

The entirety of the night was adorned with the omens of the wind and the storm threatening with its soon coming. The sky mumbled and groaned with thunderous disposition.

Z.W.E.I. woke up suddenly, not by the terrible promises the storm brought. He found himself closer to Viola now. His head rested on his right forearm and his elbow barely touched her hair. It was fortunate, they did not seem to be that close. It seems that some time during the night, she felt cold and decided to place the covers and sheets on her, or maybe he did.

But it couldn't have been him, when he remembers every single time he wakes up, and he certainly doesn't recall having woken up.

And how is that it got so cold now? Looking at Viola, she was wrapped all the way to her shoulders…

The window… it is open.

His senses took some time to be at full perceptiveness, now they were on fire. A smell, faint, but unique and unmistakable, a foreign substance - manufactured. He took a closer look at Viola, her hands were tied up.

The wind's omens had caught up.

His sword Kreuzgriff was still in the spot he had left it, just a few centimeters from his reach. He needed to stay calm and pretend he was simply caressing Viola's shoulder.

Not a noise was made…


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Unchain the Dark Hero

"How many could they be? Two, Three? Seven?" Z.W.E.I. thought to himself as Kreuzgriff was firm in his grip. For all he knew, they were at the entrance of the room, observing as they waited for him to turn his head. There could be more in the hallway and stairs, maybe even the lower floors.

These new assassins were undoubtedly superior to every opponent they had faced before. Stealthy enough to creep up on them without arousing suspicion or alert, they did something to Viola – for she certainly would have sensed them as well. While her hands were tied, his were not; everything seems to hint that Dumas plans to capture Viola alive and Z.W.E.I. to be eliminated.

The movement of his left leg gave him away, but it is not a mistake to regret. Rather he simply got the momentum to jump from the bed and charge at the fiends. With Kreuzgriff in his side, he leapt and slashed at the enemy who stood at the front door. The blow was accurate and clean, one of the adversaries got knocked down, and gave Z.W.E.I. time to look at what he was facing up against. More than seven, all of them armour clad and bearing symbols of Dumas' elite. The first one that fell would get back up soon and ready to retaliate.

Z.W.E.I. lunged forward at the rest of the group. He would need the peak of his skills to defeat them; he made merciless use of his sword, his legs and his fists to attack them, all the while his agility enabled him to dodge their offense. His first victim was completely taken out of combat when he managed to remove his helmet, leaving him open for a headbutt; the result was certainly more than a mere concussion. Regardless, it had taken him a great effort and skill to only defeat one of them, E.I.N. was needed.

Even when he summoned the lupine spirit, the assassins were skilled enough to stand resistance against his strength. E.I.N. continued relentless in his barrage, but it started taking its toll on Z.W.E.I.

Two

Three

Four

One by one, the assassins that had closed in on Z.W.E.I. and Viola were cut down by the combined might of E.I.N. and Z.W.E.I. But more men came in from the spot they were defeated; indeed, more men waited at the hallway and stairs. The Werewolf of Two Shadows continued to prove his might exceeded even his own knowledge, he disregarded his progressive exhaustion and whatever consequences would it imply for him.

In that moment, it was not about his mission anymore. He would not let them get Viola... not even if he fell dead before them.

In his eyes, shards of light started to appear floating all around him. His maxima could probably be put to the test right at that moment. The heat of the fight and his body getting injuries from is adversaries only added up to the effect of having summoned Z.W.E.I. for so long. He needed to come up with a way to get Viola out of there and into safety.

The way out was evident for him. He only prayed to the gods, that this possible swan song yielded the results he aimed for. While E.I.N. fought off Dumas' men, Z.W.E.I. went over to the bed and carried Viola over his shoulder. He struggled to support such a light weight now, such a sign could only mean his end was nearing its approach. With the totality of strength remaining in his left arm, he applied pressure on her thighs so he wouldn't let go of her as he carried out his plan.

"This... is it." He said as he summoned E.I.N. back into the ether. He took a deep breath and ran from the bed towards the window. His leap was nothing short of perfect; Z.W.E.I and Viola crashed through the window and fell four stories below. The wind and heavy rain of the storm hit them like breath of Gods, the strength of thunder lit their way through the night as they approached the abyss – the streets below. The music of the devils and the angels, the bloodlust even outside of the reach of their enemies resounded and echoed inside Z.W.E.I.'s head.

Before they fell into a surely fatal impact, Z.W.E.I. managed take hold of a ledge not far from where he had jumped. It was significantly lower, nevertheless it saved their lives for the time being; surely the assassins would come for them shortly.

With blood over his face and in his breath, he let go from the ledge into a lesser fall. He fell on his feet, though in an unsavoury way, leaving his knees weary and in pain.

Barely able to stand up, he placed Viola on the ground and clumsily untied her hands and feet. He quickly took proper a hold of Kreuzgriff and prepared for the barrage of men who were soon to come now.

Surely enough, they took no delay in gathering around Z.W.E.I. They had been even more than he anticipated., and one by one lunged at him, arms in hand. Z.W.E.I.'s reflexes to guard and parry were still at full function, but his injuries and exhaustion made him an increasingly easier target for Dumas' men who toyed with him with cruelty and amusement.

His defences had grown useless now. Blow by blow, he was swung, spun and passed around the assassins within their circle of death. He no longer had the mind state or strength to summon E.I.N. again. The hunters had finally caught the beast, but unlike any hunter, they prolonged the coming of the finishing blow.

One of the assassins struck Z.W.E.I.'s right temple in such a brutal manner that the Werewolf fell to the ground, almost defeated. On the ground and in front of him, Viola's body remained without movement as the rain fell with no indulgence on them. She did not appear to be breathing.

Tears accumulated in his eyes as he reached out for her. Was she dead?

Behind his strong though battered body, the new world he had created in the past days started to ignite and explode. His mind – his other greatest enemy – conjured the images of the past; the night when they met, the fighting of Dumas' lesser assassins, Viola's moons, her mesmerizing of him. Her smile and her laugh. Her eyes, her red beautiful eyes, now closed.

Nobody could have thought a man like Z.W.E.I. could give himself to cry. His tears were not without fury out of the world of men, his heart breaking unleashed the true nature of beasts, not animal or human could decipher such a language of pure devastation awaiting to be given a vessel.

Kreuzgriff had been kicked away of his reach. All he had left was his own body.

"I will kill you... I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU!" His warcry was feral. "ALL OF YOU WILL DIE!" Having lost all composure, he stood up as quickly as he could and lunged forward at one of the assassins. He took him the ground and found a way to leave his head open for his thumbs to sink in his eyes sockets, forever disarming him.

Plenty of the rest followed suit to kill Z.W.E.I. but as some managed to harm the beast, others fell before the might of his unholy wrath. Some lost an arm, others had their legs broken, skulls were cracked and an unfortunate one had his jaw pulled out completely.

In spite of the relative effectiveness of his new offensive, he was still vastly outnumbered.

The end was inevitable.

But soon enough, he found what the true omen of the black clouds meant. Inexorable fate had closed in not on Z.W.E.I. or Viola, but on Dumas' assassins.

A death was the first to speak as one of the assassins was pierced by a bannered lance. In the darkness of a stormy night there was no way to distinguish the figures, but the assassins now found themselves closed in on.

A new voice sounded vigorously under the black storm. A woman, with fire in the soul froze everyone in place "Surrender your arms to us! Comply to our command, or your lives will be seized!"

In the confusion of the moment, Z.W.E.I. instinctively went over to Viola.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Prayer Incarnate

The adrenaline fury gradually faded back into vulnerability. The beast was now more human than human; the beast was injured and vulnerable, wounded and desperate; if it hadn't been for whoever was behind the commanding voice of the intrusion, all roads would have collapsed permanently. Z.W.E.I. seized the opportunity to drag himself towards Viola.

She was still quiet and motionless. Under the haze and the furious rain, there was no telling if she was breathing. Z.W.E.I. could barely feel anything through his nerve terminals, so finding her pulse was not a possibility. Viola, as far as anyone could have witnessed, was trapped in Limbo, her soul debated between the world of the dead and the world of the living. Her face and body, soaked under her clothes, left her skin cold enough to be either.

In pain and having taken considerable struggle, Z.W.E.I. finally was close enough. Forehead against forehead at first, her chin against his thumb, silence against a plea that yearned for a sign – any sign.

"Viola... Don't leave me. Please... open your eyes... please." His voice was nothing other than man's whose destruction was knocking at his doorstep. Deep and strong, and yet pleading also, the fury had started to purge from his soul. His heart now breaking, his only friend leaving him and taking off to a place he could not reach or pursue. "Gods, bring her back. I will forsake this cursed mission, I will do anything... just... don't let her die."

All momentum and fire extinguished and the two wanderers found themselves isolated in that small spot under the rain. Outside in the outer world, Dumas' assassins were dispatched one by one – none of this was of any concern to Z.W.E.I. anymore. All was plunged into black.

The next thing he remembered was a small room lit by candles, his eyes saw everything as a blur, but he was certain they were candles. The walls were old but not plagued by decadence, it was not a inn but it was far more hospitable for he knew it belonged to whoever eliminated the assassins. Z.W.E.I. was sitting on a chair; the bed was right next to him. Viola was there, as motionless as before, protected under sheets and covers, eyes closed.

"She will live" A voice said behind him.

Z.W.E.I. stayed silent, his eyes were fixated on the young woman. "She is breathing, isn't she?" he asked.

"Yes. We don't know what their intention was. They may have planned to take her to their employer, or they may have aimed to kill her in a practical way so you would be easier to be taken out of the map. I doubt anyone had been as close to death as she was." The voice behind Z.W.E.I. was not the same who demanded the assassins to surrender; this voice belonged to a man. "You should rest. You were poisoned as well, you were fortunate to have survived as well." Whoever spoke clearly knew the Werewolf would stay there until she woke up and fully expected his denial – Absolute silence.

One hour passed and Z.W.E.I.'s sight was improving into its optimal state. He could see now that she was breathing. Her state started to visibly progress back into health as he perceived her sleeping expression tense as if she felt the effects of her own injuries and the drugs. "Much better now..." He spoke to himself, feeling weary beyond the past measure; his legs weren't in much pain as before, but he could barely even try moving them. In such an uncomfortable position, he fell back to sleep.

When his eyes opened again, Viola was awake and looking at him. Her strength and vigour was seen only through the depth of her big red eyes; her skin ghostly pale and her expression weakened to the very core. Her lips opened and a hint of a breath sounded too forced to let out.

"Don't" He told her. Though as human will would have it, he saw in her eyes how strong a need she needed to express herself.

It was at first a string of a voice. "It was my fault. I failed to see it." Her words started to acquire volume, fully conveying her sadness. "Z.W.E.I..."

"It was mine, Viola, and nobody else's. I put us in harm's way. It was me, so quiet now and rest." His voice was as cutting as it was sad. In its tone there was a feeling of stern commandment; he realized it as soon as her eyes drifted from his. "I am sorry, I don't mean to be like this. It is nobody's fault, okay? We were in the wrong place at the wrong time but we made it out of there alive."

In spite of his words, she looked remorseful still. With effort and strength, he managed to get back on his feet without her noticing that he could not walk properly yet. Without looking away for a single moment, he got close to her to the point where nothing other than few centimetres separated them. His lips tender against her forehead in a kiss that could give her all of his kindness. "Please, rest some more, Viola."

This expression was new to them both. She didn't know what to think of this gesture, her eyes were once more fixated on but also beyond him. Warmth was felt within her. Silent now, she nodded discreetly and complied. Viola fought the weariness no more, for now she allowed her eyelids to lend her some more rest.

In those few moments, they became acquainted with sides they had not known about up until then. Z.W.E.I. overwhelmed himself at his affection for her, and Viola did not seem to shy away from the frailness that reigned the moment. She accepted her vulnerability and his as well.

Z.W.E.I.'s last thought before falling back into the embrace of sleep was how mere attachment would not allow for this to happen, and such thing this certainly was not.

Back into consciousness and thought, he observed Viola. She had changed into her accustomed position. Sideways, with her back to him, her shoulders and hips at ease. It was a good sign of her strength returning to her. By his side stood the man that had spoken earlier; long blond hair and a scar over his right eye, strong build and a light in his eyes that whispered long past stories. His expression was stern but showed some thoughtful concern about the situation Viola and Z.W.E.I. had almost fallen to. He was there to say something important, Z.W.E.I. simply awaited for his words.

"You two have met with a series of events, haven't you?" The man paused as his eyes dug into the very fabric of Z.W.E.I.'s soul. "I perfectly understand what happened, and also what drove you to make that stand. You, she and I know that as our world's laws would dictate it, you should not have survived. But you did."

The man took a pause to walk behind the chair Z.W.E.I. was sitting on. His hand rested on his shoulder, Z.W.E.I. felt it cold and hard like stone, dead but alive through overwhelming strength felt merely through the palm of the man's hand.

"My duty is not too different from yours. The strength we saw in you is something you don't find in the men of this era. We need your might, too much is at stake." He said.

"I will do anything you ask of me." Z.W.E.I. said absent-mindedly.

"Your disposition is valued, but we are not in need of a simple vulgar henchman. First, I will need you to fully understand the nature of the menace that stands before us. This war is something no soldier can be trained for and the casualties grow by the hundreds; it is our mission to end that war. Are you still willing?"

Z.W.E.I. stared at Viola still sleeping. She was not wearing her clothes, rather clean white bearings that were surely supplied by this mysterious group. The bed looked comfortable, and in the position she slept in, he knew her hands and feet were unbound. Above all, she was alive and so was he. Thanks to them.

"Yes."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8: To Belong

"We are Schwarzwind." Those were the man's first words on the following day. "I am Siegfried Schtauffen, I lead this machine." Siegfried spoke as Z.W.E.I. and Viola were taken through hallways, dining halls, yards and training grounds to get acquainted with what would likely be their home for a more permanent time.

The training grounds were what caught their attention the most. Dozens of men and women sparred and engaged in intense exercise. Though the ways of each small group differed, all worked under strict regime, like a well-oiled war machine. Within the manpower, Viola and Z.W.E.I. stood out before even showing their might, though not one in the present rest looked any short of a worthy opponent. Z.W.E.I. realized on that moment that Siegfried did not train or enrol expendables of any kind.

"Deserting soldiers, mercenaries, preachers... We are a very diverse race, if you will. We often provide our services to third parties, but ultimately we all strive for only one goal." Siegfried spoke.

"What is this goal you speak of?" Viola asked.

"You will know in fair time. It won't be a simple briefing. You will need some education beforehand, to split the reality from the myth, though in the end most of it will prove to be one and the same. Any more questions?"

"Yeah. You look rather seasoned, I bet you have quite a story of yourself, I would like to hear it." Z.W.E.I. remarked, earning a curious look from Viola, both at the answer he expected and the reaction to it.

Siegfried snickered. "That as well, you two shall know." He beckoned them to one spot in particular.

A woman was sparring in a relatively large group; with a lance in one hand and a short sword in the other, her style looked remarkably effective. The group opened a passage as Siegfried and the two former wanderers approached. The woman and her partner ceased the exercise. "Hildegard von Wolfkrone" Siegfried introduced. The appearance of the woman was as remarkable as her combat skills; she was of slender proportions though the muscular toning was evident even under loose training attire, her factions were smooth and her lips were fleshy and voluptuous, adorned above all with a birthmark by her mouth. "She is the one who saved your lives on that infamous night." Siegfried placed his hand on her shoulder, hinting a tighter bond than comradery.

Z.W.E.I. stretched his hand out to her. She looked down at it with slight indifference and shook it. Her grip was exceptionally strong. "Thank you." He said. The simplicity of his thankfulness was quite appreciated by her as she granted him a respectful smile.

Viola looked at her for a moment before speaking. "By the beauty you possess, you could belong more fittingly in the royalty. But those eyes won't lie to me, you were born for the arts of war."

"I will take that as a compliment." Hilde responded with a serious tone but without concealing the youth in her voice. Viola simply nodded politely.

"Soon, you will meet other members of our small army. For now, you will be free to become acquainted with this Ancient Citadel by yourselves. There is, of course, a rule to follow: This place will be your home now, therefore you two will have our protection... as long as you are willing to protect your comrades. This will be it for the time being, you are dismissed."

And so, Z.W.E.I. and Viola found themselves no longer as wanderers. Such a stark change, to finally belong brought above mixed emotions, especially on Viola. She wasn't sure of what bothered her but she opted to keep her apprehension hidden behind her usual demeanour, for regardless of the circumstance, she would stay with her friend.

The days passed and they grew more acquainted and more accustomed to the ways of Schwarzwind, though they still remained relatively outcasts within the ranks. Their disposition was the same as every other, but the darkness around them couldn't be ignored.

Z.W.E.I. had been growing restless and impatient for the last two weeks since they joined Schwarzwind. In between his wounds healing and the familiar feeling of military routine training he was under, his mind ached to know what his new mission was. The words he was told when he accepted taking part of this new enterprise only left him with increasing anticipation.

"Curiosity killed the cat." Viola often told him. "There is no use for you to cogitate over this." She had a point, she always did. Such were his thoughts that rivalled his unease; surely he would have gone mad if she wasn't there. As if her words were something to be anticipated, his ears and eyes awaited when he decided to take a break and sit at her side.

"Calm down, yes? I should calm down." He stole the words from her mouth.

She nodded and sighed as her eyes drifted into the walls of the Citadel. She was truly was as lost in her own thoughts as he were, and just as he anticipated her own words, she anticipated something from him. The carelessness of his movements and speech that day hinted that there is more to his unease than mere impatience; there was something needing to be said and he was reluctant to let it out. She hoped she wouldn't need to get ahead of him.

"What is it?" She finally brought herself to ask.

"I talked to the Captain." Z.W.E.I. had taken a liking to calling Siegfried, Captain. If he was to tell her about a conversation with him, she induced that it'd be important and it would have to do with her. "There was something I needed to discuss with him and..."

Viola found it very strange for him to be so reluctant and indirect as opposed to his usual coarse and doubtless tone. It caught enough of her attention to place her eyes on him.

"He told me our belongings would be here tonight. From all the fuzz and the blood, we seem to have left them at the inn... everyone in the inn was killed also." He continued.

"I knew our things would eventually be back in our hands. But this is not what you are meaning to say, is it?" She said and he further deviated from the weight of his thought.

He scratched his hair and sighed loudly, as if he was preparing to say something he dreaded. "He says you don't really need to actively partake of this mission. He said it happens sometimes, a number of soldiers have their families living here and, you know..." He groaned before finishing the sentence, he knew how pathetic he sounded and how mediocre an argument that was in order to keep her away from the stench of violence. His eyes were as down as his head, but he could feel her gaze burning holes on his neck.

Her silence deepened the sensation. When he looked at her, it was worse than what he anticipated. She was furious, but her anger was not of the kind so commonly conceived. She was hurt and offended, as if his words could easily be re-arranged into saying she would be a hindrance.

"Is this because I am ill?" She spoke coldly. The drug that had been used on her still had ripples on her well-being. Though receding, fever still came upon her sometimes at night. Nevertheless, she was still capable.

"I just don't want you to get hurt." Z.W.E.I. told her with a regretful tone. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I could not live with it if you- "

Viola's voice sounded like a tempest when she cut his words short. "You are healing, I can heal as well. You fight, I can as well" She stood up and bothered to look at him no more.

"Viola!" Z.W.E.I. called. His mind raced to find the words to undo his mistake. But as she walked away, his thoughts melted into pure anger towards himself and his ways.

"Don't talk to me." That is all she said.

Alone in the training ground, Z.W.E.I. stood with his eyes on the sunset. The beauty of the resting sun wasn't nearly as sulphuring as the anger in his eyes. In frustration, he kicked the bench into splinters and surely he would need something else to fully unwind.

From a window several stories above, Hilde von Wolfkrone witnessed this moment. She put out the tobacco she was smoking and headed towards Siegfried's quarters. She needed to have a word with him.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Road to Hell is paved in Gold; the Road to Heaven is paved in Lead

Night fell but promises did not. The yards and training grounds deserted now except for a small scouting party sent to Milan a few days ago, they were making way into the great halls of the Citadel. The number of cogs in the Schwarzwind machine is vast but plenty of room remains to increase the ranks and power; among these, a few eagerly awaited the return of the scouts. Some anticipated mail from colleagues and comrades; others expected word from their beloved ones that could not make their way into the warriors' haven. A few others simply awaited the arrival of goods; small riches or belongings to find their way back into their possession.

Quattor Orbis was upon her hands once more. Viola sat at one of the long dining tables. The benches were almost full, but she had managed to save some space for a large case brought to her, containing her incense, oil, candles, books... all underneath a sleeveless leather jacket. There was room for complains when the party had returned quick and effectively, but seeing her belongings packed along with his, was not a pleasant sensation.

After all her experiences, she knew that a meal is something to be truly valued. Though the rice and meat in front of her tempted her appetite, she disregarded the plate for all and only that had her attention was her crystal ball.

Soon, she was pulled back into the reality of the dining hall. The bittersweet smell of ale poured from jars into glasses inevitably stirred her mind. Her long past memories may be unknown to her, but what she does remember lingers so close. Eyes of ruby scanned her surroundings; faceless figures stood and sat at every spot, but Z.W.E.I.'s head was instantly noticed even if he had his back to her and was on the other side of the wide hall.

He appeared to be just like her: Distant.

She had no intention on speaking to him, and surely he didn't know to approach her under this state. Such thick gray fog in which the roads can't be told apart, and destinations would not likely by what they seem.

Schwarzwind's Captain was not at the hall that night. It was a habit of his to inspect the fields through a telescope in one of the Citadel's towers, nothing in the landscape jumped to his attention but he wanted to take every possible precaution.

"The field is the same as the last time you looked." Hilde's voice sounded in the chamber. "Perhaps you should join your men downstairs. Nothing is gained from neglecting the appetite."

Siegfried smiled and turned to look at her. "I am fairly sure I can get something good from the leftovers." Hilde saw how his demeanour may have turned brighter but he was still the same man she knew 17 years ago, still a loner by nature.

"Does getting more acquainted with your men not sound alluring, then?" Her voice was serious though retained a touch of amusement that only he could perceive.

"I am sure they all have a story to tell. I should listen to them all, but time is unfair – not one of them is to be left neglected." Siegfried followed her lead into her intention. "Unless there is one story you are interested in."

"Now that you mention it... Those two, the Werewolf and the Fortune Teller, they used to be together all the time, now they are not." Hilde approached Siegfried; her eyes lost the touch of ease. "It may be wise to help them back into cooperation."

Likewise, Siegfried adopted a more serious tone. "If there is a bridge fallen between them, there is nothing in our role about it"

Hilde decided to be bolder. "I believe she did not appreciate our politics of passive residence in our domains. Or rather did not appreciate being given the option. It is quite unusual, if you ask me." She was quite aware that Siegfried's protection and residence way was widely praised by members of Schwarzwind. "If a bridge was destroyed, it is their role to rebuild it. But we could supply some help."

"Why, it is not like you to be such a romantic" Siegfried spoke with his wits challenging hers.

"Take it however you want. However, you can't deny that two warriors used to fighting back to back are a force to be reckoned with. We shouldn't be concerned they'd be a hindrance to each other, they don't seem the type." Hilde finished her sentence with enough validity to help Siegfried into considering making an exception to his rule.

"... You and I didn't seem the type either." Siegfried told her, hoping she knew he would caress the subject once more.

"I know". The room was dark, but he could tell she was smiling. "Their outcome may or not be similar to ours, but our sons have brought us nothing but joy. It isn't a risk to help them."

"I will have a word with the two of them at daybreak." It was final. Siegfried, as charitable a leader as he was, took no consideration as this to ever be in his nature. But to deny such a request from his wife would be to deny their history together.

A few hours passed and the lights were put out. Curfew and vigilance protocol were on full vigour.

Viola lay on a small bed in one of the chambers. Fifteen other women slept in the room. Regardless of the prohibition for anyone to sleep in a chamber meant for the opposite gender, Z.W.E.I. was allowed to stay at her side for a few minutes before being required to return to one of the male chambers. Those few minutes were like ambrosia to her since she was discharged from the infirmary; and in the days that followed, if she woke up under a feverish grip, she was sure he'd be allowed in for a moment.

To think now that she pushed him away so, after his foolishness. "I was not a hindrance you, or was I?" Viola, unable to sleep, spoke to herself "We are more than adept. You knew better than this, Z.W.E.I. Why couldn't you treat me as an equal?"

"Shut up." An annoyed faceless voice said.

Viola paid no mind to it, she needed to express herself. "Imbecile lupine you... arrgh!"

Her voicing was harshly interrupted by the owner of the request through the means of a boot that hit Viola in the face. "You shan't live to tell him that if you don't shut your trap already"

Viola was too troubled to mind the gesture or to bear anger. Careful to keep her thoughts from being spoken, she hoped for his sake that he stayed on his bed at the males' chamber.

Z.W.E.I. on his side was not as good as staying put and relatively at ease as Viola was. Without speaking his mind, he walked barefoot from one side of the chamber to the other. Though he could do without sleep for several days, he truly wished for exhaustion to beckon him to sleep, and in failure he cursed the vigilance protocol, for there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to exercise his unease away.

The next day dawned on them with word from Siegfried's guards. Both were requested at his quarters.

Both former wanderers stood in his presence without looking at each other. Viola remained offended by him, and Z.W.E.I. was clueless as to how to approach without upsetting her further.

Siegfried on his part stayed on his chair with his eyes staring absent minded into the distance while he continued to stroke the hint of a beard on his chin. Neither Z.W.E.I. nor Viola could know, but the head of Schwarzwind used to bear much more gloom a personality. Through some of his gestures, there were who argued that he had mellowed out; when in reality he kept his relentless disposition in temperance.

"Several things had come up to my attention lately" He finally spoke. "The matters themselves I believe you two are quite aware of, so I will not address them. But what I will say is that there is a new rule... for the two of you only. You are both to lend us your strength and skills for the mission if you are to stay in our protection. If any of you refuse, you will be banished from the grounds and eliminated should you press resistance."

This new rule fell on them like an anvil.

"What is going on?" Viola asked, visibly under the dominion of mixed emotions.

"I believe I made myself quite clear, lady. Starting tomorrow, you two will be kept under training regime. I will supervise the both of you if necessary." Siegfried stood up and made his way out of the quarters. Z.W.E.I. was surprised though speechless; his hand reached out for Siegfried but he anticipated what he was about to say; he looked at Viola and finished. "Make that two days."

The two of them were now alone, aware that neither of them would transgress this new rule. Still standing firm in military fashion as their instinct had them do, someone was bound to break the silence now. Z.W.E.I. did so after a long sighing.

"Viola, I am sorry." He said.

"I know"

"I didn't mean to make you feel useless or weak." He continued.

"I know" She repeated.

"Will you be alright and ready within two days?" He sounded rather concerned now.

"I have faith I will be." Viola turned to look at him. As he looked at her, she saw her unable to suppress a smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Seasoned

It was a tacit rule in Schwarzwind; their ranks had no room for any talent unable to fully express its potential, otherwise this force would not be any different from a pack of brigands, thieves or one more link in a long chain of fashionable though utterly weak pseudo-guilds. Each part in the machine was trained and honed to exploit the fullest of capabilities. Z.W.E.I. and Viola each had their own repertoire of abilities; though at the time they were taken under the full regime of Schwarzwind, each history proved to be worthless.

Two days had passed since the two re-established communication. If the awkward feelings lingered in some degree, training made fluid exchange a necessity.

Z.W.E.I. felt as if his arms would soon come off from his torso. During his lone wanderer's days in Asia, he would often wonder how eastern warriors could perform such magnificent prowess with significantly smaller builds – he discovered soon enough the method. Training customs from Thailand and Northern China were his torment for that afternoon. He knew if he used these ways regularly, his body would become a weapon itself, but on that moment he felt he would not survive another day under that regime.

Viola on the other hand, seemed to undertake her training pace in a smoother way. Z.W.E.I. beheld her small body three meters above; her arms still resisted a fair deal hanging from the still bar and her legs were flexed in such a manner that her ankles touched the back of her thighs – Z.W.E.I. looked in admiration at how flexible and enduring her body was.

"Z.W.E.I." She called from above. "How long has it been now?"

"Beats me, I lost all sense of time after an hour passed."

"It hasn't been an hour" Her voice sounded calm in spite of the intense exercise.

"Are you sure?" Z.W.E.I. sounded genuinely confused.

"Yes!" Through a slight change in her voice, he could tell she was truly feeling the physical strain and her usual calm and indifference were progressively yielding.

"Are you alright?" He asked amused.

"... I can't feel my arms... Z.W.E.I.? Z.W.E.I.!" He held back a chuckle as the exhaustion affected her accent. "Stand below me, just do it."

Z.W.E.I. complied, not sure of what was she intending to do. Viola above him, she managed to stretch out her legs and extend the grip from the bar. The copper tube of the bar was now in edgy grip of only her fingers, and her feet were cautiously looking for his shoulders. It was at first shaky and unbalanced, then it was firm – she hung from her fingers and she used his shoulders as a platform. "Uh, better now?" he asked.

"Yes." Was all she said; silence ensued for minutes to come. Whatever sound reached their eyes were only the flight of sparrows, and her own breathing now calm and relaxed.

Next thing he knew was her feet pressed further on his shoulders and her weight came down on him little by little. Soon her calves were like sideburns to him and her thighs a hat. After such an uncomfortable position, she prepared to come to the ground, using him as a bizarre ladder.

At the end of the training session, the light of the sunset permeated the fields, the plain, the woods and the walls of the Citadel. Z.W.E.I. and Viola sat on the grass and observed the landscape.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"I am spent. Though I assume you refer to my state of health; rest at ease, fever preys on me no more." Through her voice she nevertheless gave away how truly exhausted she was. Had she not chosen to finish her exercise when she did, her condition would have suffered consequences.

"You did quite well back there. Looked like a breeze to you." He commented. It had been a considerable time they had been travelling together and like the very night they met, she continued to surprise him in such diversity of ways. Infinity more than what meets the eye.

"I am accustomed to this kind of training. Not too different from what you learn in the landmarks of the Silk Road." Viola, as time continued to pass, became comfortable with talking about herself with Z.W.E.I. or what she knew about herself, that is. "This odyssey and my trade are not all I do."

"Is that so? What is this other talent you refer to?" He asked.

Viola looked away for a portion of a second. Though it was a passion to her, she would rather have it a mystery to the world. To stay silent to his question felt wiser to her, but before she knew it, she told him without further thought. "I dance"

He didn't need to be told any further. It was said though her hesitation, the context of her expression, the exercise she was quite used to already; her style of dancing is that which charms and enamours the beholder with the splendour of its' res on feminine hips and mesmerizing movements. Behind his brooding though calm exterior, his soul flourished in wonder and surprise. "I see" He said simple and plain. Anything else would have made her feel uncomfortable.

"You did well yourself." She remarked.

"I am used to the military ways. Goes without saying though, I got rusty" He felt it was only fair for him to reveal something she didn't know after she did so. What truly made him passionate outside his mission was something he hadn't done in a very long time and had no means to do. The craft of his own he's chosen to forsake in favour of the duty he has taken upon himself.

Viola, however, got ahead of his thought. "I may not be able to read you, but I know there is something else you do... you don't need to tell me, just be aware that I know"

Z.W.E.I. looked puzzled. It didn't sound like something she would normally say. However, what truly caught him off guard was that she read him nevertheless, not through her power but though what he does and says. The time they spent together had forged something more than a habit and in the same manner that he observed her, she did as well.

At times, the two of them seemed perfect opposites in the rawest humanity of their beings; but within and beyond the fabric of their souls, they were natural to each other. Just like the simple attire they were given for training purposes; seasoned in sweat and dirt, barefoot and loose enough. The same mission and the same road were ahead and the end did not look within a close proximity.

The days passed and training continued. The diversity of exercise and seasoning was vast, but at the end they had their own small ritual awaiting. Sunset or overcast, the sky and the grass was theirs and nobody else's. In time, words were not even necessary to enjoy each other's presence.

Though neither knew, they both feared the same thing – falling for each other. She anticipated the time when he'd look in her direction, so he would not catch her biting her lip in his presence. His instinct had him wary that she would not read the corner of a smile or his eyes increasingly warming to her, both so furtive and rebellious to command.

Rain was promised through the ominous clouds in the sky that day. A figure stood before them during their rite. Siegfried, dressed in training attire as they were.

"You two... smell, quite badly. Get bathed and dine well. Join me in my quarters afterwards. The time has come." His message was brief, but shook them deep. Their rite would be no more for some time to come but the duty on their hands was undoubtedly the best way to defend against what they feared.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Fable

Ale, broths and meat; such a feast never goes without a good reason under Schwarzwind's roof. In spite of the loyalty of each soldier towards Siegfried, rarely do they get to fully know what movement he has planned; Z.W.E.I. and Viola knew the most amongst the ranks –that they'd be part of it, nothing more and nothing less.

A few hours ago, they were anticipating rain as they sat on the grass. Loose shirts and trousers designed for training purposes, first white and then sand coloured through the sweat and the dirt, barefoot with humidity of the earth between their toes and the smell arising of the moist beautiful green of the fields. During those moments after training peace whispered its coming amidst the promise of a war, harmony and serenity in spite of the chaos and the blood; in such a state of affairs, their efforts to resist their instincts proved weaker by the day. On the grass, under the clouds, Z.W.E.I. and Viola were not warriors or wanderers; they were friends approaching a new frontier

Now, at the dining table they were once more in the role of warriors. They opted to wear their original attires to start this new enterprise. Once more and as their custom came to shape itself, they ate and drank in silence, each with a mind wandering and racing but neither thought was too different from the other.

It could be felt by everyone that they were returning to their cold, unreachable demeanours. The mission Siegfried had for them required their absolute skills and nothing short of success would be acceptable for each to deliver. Their lives were saved by Schwarzwind, their gratitude was beyond compare. Time was nigh for the briefing at Siegfried's quarters.

In silence, they climbed the stairs of the north tower. Once at the door, Viola looked at Z.W.E.I. and convinced herself that it was all meant to be, regardless of whether she could have seen it or not. They finally opened the door and let themselves in. The room was no different than the last time they were there; banners of the extinct Wolfkrone kingdom looked solemn under candle lights. Hilde was next to Siegfried, her presence spoke tacitly of the matter, intimidating and devoted to a cause they would know soon.

Hilde spoke first. "It is an honour. You two have found your way into our ranks through a stand of courage without measure. The art of the combat found its voice in you, and though you may believe you are in debt to us, in reality we are the ones who ought to thank you." Her words took the pair by surprise; such warmth was not what they expected and further anticipated the importance of their expected role. "Siegfried?" She called for the Captain of Schwarzwind to proceed into the matter.

Siegfried's expression looked grave as he opened the book of his memories for Z.W.E.I. and Viola to be imparted knowledge beyond the art and technique of the world. "Soul Edge, your ears may have been touched by those words or not. In either case, myth and truth's division is blurred by its existence. It is a sword of curse and limitless destruction, sought by many – some through lust for power, others through a treasure hailing from times of legend, and yet others for noble purposes. Regardless of what the pursuer desires, their souls are bound to be corrupted by its power; those who are not directly involved though felt within the grasp of its influence, will become the 'malfested'. If evil exists in our world, it certainly is Soul Edge; its taint reaches everyone and everything." Siegfried interrupted his speech to observe Z.W.E.I and Viola. "The cursed sword was banished seventeen years ago. By what you can induce now, its power is once more alive."

"I always thought Soul Edge was a myth." Z.W.E.I responded.

"A blissful it would be should that be true." Hilde spoke. "What you have heard about it is most likely the absolute truth. It will give you splendid power, far superior to any force man can conjure, but the price of such might is too big and one life is not enough to balance such a cost." She hesitated from speaking further as her eyes looked sadly on Siegfried.

"I... have had experience with Soul Edge, and through that experience a way to counter it. Every significant force has its antitheses; Soul Edge has a power that rivals it: Soul Calibur. Only through the power of this 'Spirit Sword' can Soul Edge be bound from reach once more." Siegfried continued.

"Would such power not be equally as dangerous?" Viola asked.

"Indeed. Both powers rival each other and each is potentially impeding devastation, and through that potential is that they will nullify each other's essence. In this success, both powers will be left unstirred and rendered once more into slumber." Siegfried explained. "We are indeed honoured in counting with your presence for the past weeks. At this point, your role could be expanded further into the success of our enterprise. We will keep you within our ranks should you choose to decline on this mission."

Silence reigned upon the room.

"Will you assist us in finding a new wielder for Soul Calibur?" Such was Siegfried's mission for the pair in its purest form.

Viola, though her powers yielded no knowledge on her partner, could read his lips before he began to speak.

"I... we will do it, Captain." Z.W.E.I. said without hesitation or fear.

Viola nodded in silence, satisfied that he did not exclude her from a duty she was as much part of as he was.

Siegfried smiled solemnly and approached the two of them. As the rite of honour to a cause dictates, he kissed both of their hands. Warrior's code, comradery and devotion. The two dark wanderers were now part of a heroic breed. Z.W.E.I. could feel it as the way to avenge the lost lives and prevent more innocents from being hunted by Dumas.

"It will be a long road for our success. This is the first episode of the mission as a whole; solely taking this search upon yourselves has made you invaluable to us. We thank you. In three days time, you shall depart from the Citadel in search for our new champion. For the time being, you may return to the feast and you may rest. You will need it." Hilde expressed with genuine gratitude.

"You may go now, warriors" Siegfried dismissed.

Viola and Z.W.E.I. now out to their own devices within the Citadel did not go back into the dining hall, but rather decided to resume their rite. The training ground did not make the cut for this occasion however. Viola grabbed his arm and led him towards a garden she had recently discovered; it was small and paled in comparison to the rest in the Citadel.

It was not yet known to Viola who looked after the garden, but in time she'd look to know for it would seem that place called for her and her only. The moon was muffled by black clouds so the colours of the garden were lost on that night, but mere presence was all she needed.

She beckoned Z.W.E.I. towards her. As he complied, her arms enveloped his neck as she kissed his cheek. Her embrace remained and waited to be returned, and the affection he returned in confusion but not without sincerity.

Once she let go, she looked in his eyes - strange affection seen in cold steely blue. "Do not ambition to understand. I myself cannot." Viola wasn't as flustered as she imagined she would be; whatever warmth could have been visible in her cheeks was all within her. "Thank you... I will head to sleep now. Good night."

Her voice seemed distant but both knew of the sweetness under a crafted tone. It was unlike anything she has expressed before.

Z.W.E.I. sat alone on the grass. The colours of the garden were still not to be seen but he could somewhat sense them in the back of his throat. It would be a long time until he decided to go to sleep, thoughts were to be sorted, planning to be made concerning this new mission, field to be studied and training to be done; but above in priority was a young woman so strange and special to some, now absolutely natural to him.

"I'm screwed" He said to himself.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Art of War I

The light of the dying sun gleams on the garden Viola has claimed as her own, through overgrown vines and cracks on old walls. On the following day of their briefing, Z.W.E.I. placed a small round table on the garden at her request, chairs and a chest as well for her exclusive use – Quattor Orbis, her books, candles, incense and oils, all in this small haven for her to make appropriate use.

The rite of the evenings was now postponed for a more fitting date, days of fulfilled duty and met commitments. On the morning of that day, Z.W.E.I. had spent hours in Siegfried's quarters, analyzing maps of the peninsula and the continental Europe in order to make a decision on where to search first. At first induction, the port cities were the first option, but the odds of finding a fitting new wielder for Soul Calibur were dim in consideration of likely 'quantity over quality' to be found in the ports. Within the continent, the barrier between neophytes and true warriors is rarely breached; where one such would, a candidate may such be.

After the meeting, Z.W.E.I. made his way to the garden where Viola was sure to be. He was greeted by the sight of her, conducting her own search. Eyes tightly shut, lips moving discreetly in a soundless chant, fingertips bathing in the glow producing from the catalyzed core of Quattor Orbis.

He stayed quiet for several minutes, as any sound foreign to this green haven could ruin her concentration.

Viola's senses were not as keen as his own; nevertheless it took only a blink for her to suddenly return to the earthly spectrum.

"Did I interrupt?" Z.W.E.I. asked.

"Yes. You did." Viola did not give any sign of being aggravated for it was not a sound or smell that shattered her state; rather it was his own presence she had learned to feel by pure instinct. "Have you decided on where to look yet?"

"The Captain and I agreed that inland territory could give better results." Z.W.E.I. took the liberty to sit on the other chair by her table. "Yet the world is no small place if you ask me. I have no idea where to start." He looked mildly frustrated as he leaned back on the chair.

Viola figured such a thing would be on his mind. "I have tried looking as far as Cordoba. I can't extend the reach of my sight so far... but there may be something within a closer distance..."

"How close?" He asked.

"Bavaria" She responded without much enthusiasm. "I will need more time to prove these signs as truth or falsehood."

"I see." Z.W.E.I. contemplated. "Do you want me to leave you for a while?"

"No." For the purpose at hand, the wolf was quite surprised.

And so, Viola returned to her search as Z.W.E.I. sat in silence. He would not be one to question methods he is in poor knowledge of, but his presence was more than likely unnecessary – he knew so and so did she. In truth, it had been fortunate that she was interrupted at that moment.

Viola had not told him the complete truth of her findings. Her progress was far more successful that she let on and whatever she could search for in that moment, would only confirm what she had already seen. As his personality acquired influence of hers, Viola became slightly driven to take upon his stubborn ways. Disguising her intention with a further effort into the mission, she tried to look into Z.W.E.I. – who he was, where he comes from... what will the future hold in wait for him.

Whether it was minutes or hours, it would be of no relevance when she opened her eyes once more. There was still no sight into his past and no future to confirm or deny what she had seen before as a dream, there was only the very present, the 'now' in which her fingers were beyond Quattor Orbis. Her hands open wide with fingers stretched at their most, reached towards the man in front of her. She gasped in her realization, she spend too adamant an effort in looking inside of him that her grip demanded more strength and concentration, movement beyond what she could keep close and discreet.

"Are you alright?" He asked her with a confused look on his face.

"I-I... I am tired" Viola tried to hide what she was doing and yet was aware of how terrible a liar she was.

"I see. You haven't eaten all day, have you?" He said and, anticipating whatever she could say, continued. "I will bring you something, what would you like?"

"Plums" She responded. Plums could be picked fresh from the trees on the eastern gardens of the Citadel, or in the dining halls. Whichever the option, it would give her time to rearrange her composure.

"Plums, it is." Z.W.E.I. made his way out of her garden.

As well as his stubborn ways, Viola had also acquired Z.W.E.I.'s worst habit – overthinking. Though she could not see anything certain, inevitably her dream from the first night in Turin would creep in her thoughts. Fear and doubts fondled her imagination with cruelty, and no hint of serenity would arrive to her summons when the images of that night prevailed deep.

To express something as uncertain was out of the question. Instead, she chose to continue playing the folly for as long as it proved possible. If her dream was falsehood, then it was the expression of her own psyche. If it was truth and premonition, then she was to find a way to alter the future. Either way, the commitment to Schwarzwind was not her only duty.

Her thoughts were only given few more minutes before Z.W.E.I. had returned with a bowl full of ripe plums. Their fresh and youthful appearance fit splendidly with the ambience Viola had crafted within the garden. Though the fruit was a ruse to get time for her reflection, the plums appeared more than agreeable to the taste and so, her appetite was stirred.

Without foreword, she was quick to grab one of the plums. Still under the amber rays of the sun, the deep red prevailed on the palm of her hand; its consistency was of a tender flesh. With the first bite, the juice proved to honour the promise of the first look.

Some of the more simple pleasures in life were more appealing to her than opulence, fame or power. Z.W.E.I. was quick to notice her reaction to the taste of the fruit. If indeed they were the best pickings, she seemed to enjoy them to another level – almost as much as she enjoys her wines.

Such was her pleasure that she failed to notice the juice of the plum was moist over her lips. Against all he intended, Z.W.E.I. could not take his eyes off her. Flesh – her lips. Viola looked increasingly enticing to him.

A feeling of guilt and apprehension came over him. Like most other emotions, he managed to keep it concealed for the rest of the day. At night, unable to sleep, he sat on the edge of his bed. His head rested on his left hand while his right hand scratched his furiously.

"I can't let this happen. I can't." He said to himself. His past history is always there regardless of how rarely he thinks of it. "But... what if? What if I could?" Silence prevailed in his tongue, chaos in his mind began to acquire shape; "I can't play this by ear forever... I won't let it happen again, I will break the chain." His thoughts continued to keep him awake, having said this in almost inaudible voice. The late night thoughts of a sleepless beast tend to mark the most powerful of resolves. To beat fate at its' own game, some can get away with victory. Will he be one of them?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: The Art of War II

He thought his resolve would indulge him into some hours of sleep; he was convinced the truth would set him free – he was mistaken. For as soon as he closed his eyes after coming to terms with such an undeniable truth, her image would creep into his mind and take over it all, from his tongue to his capability to keep his body at ease for rest.

Not one of his past lovers equated to the restlessness Viola provoked in him. Such good fortune that she couldn't read him, for a feeling so unstable was new to him and no manner to convey it felt like safe ground to stand.

His thoughts stood rivalling each other. The priority on finding a new wielder for Soul Calibur failed to achieve dominance over the desire to sneak into her room and whisper loving words and promises into her ear for them to stay in her sleeping mind, safe from the violence of the day and protected under the moon he cherished so much.

"Daughter of the Night" he whispered to himself time after time, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed. "Damn me, damn me, damn me, damn me, damn me!" Gradually his whispering became more audible. He had no choice now; even if the room she slept in was not him to enter at this time, he needed to violate the curfew and breathe fresh cold air.

He did not bother to get dressed. Barefoot and shirtless with nothing else but thin cotton slacks, he greeted the hallways of the Citadel with wild instinct in his eyes. Mere lust was drive for the vulgar - his instinct, on the other hand, was desire needing to unwind.

Blinded by his conflicting thoughts, he quickly found himself sitting at the deserted dining hall. The acoustic of such a great chamber amplified and produced echo from his very breath. Any guard patrolling the hallways would surely take notice of his presence and the appropriate sanction would be enforced.

And indeed, someone saw Z.W.E.I. violating the curfew.

"From the very beginning, you struck me as the one likely to sneak out." The voice sounded familiar.

"I'm sorry, Captain." Z.W.E.I. felt too much of a rush in his head to oppose resistance or to justify himself.

"Most of the times, it is only protocol to keep discipline and order. We have yet to experience an incident at these hours." Siegfried approached the bench he was sitting at. "When we do, we will cross that bridge swift and clean."

Z.W.E.I. did all in his might to regain his composure, but under such a state, his leader could easily tell there was quite a reason behind his presence.

"Keep yourself together. Time will come." Siegfried said dryly.

"Captain, what do you mean?" He sensed a sliver of understanding about his gesture, but was left in disbelief nevertheless.

"The mind of an able fighter is not easily shaken from its foundations out of simple unease about a mission. A heart though, can pull anything from slumber." Siegfried arched his eyebrow and awaited Z.W.E.I.'s reaction.

Silence last for only a few seconds, each weighing a world on what remained of the werewolf's tranquillity. "Inconvenient time, huh?"

"Indeed. Now that it has happened, is failure an option?" Siegfried asked.

"Failure was never an option" Z.W.E.I. replied, brooding and resolute.

Schwarzwind's Captain chuckled and proceeded to walk away into the darkness beyond the hallways surrounding the dining hall. If there were any more words from him, they faded into the distance or were simply incapable of reaching the far stranded mind of the werewolf.

The sleepless nights were to return, there was no doubt about that.

If there was to be any possibility to a future, the plan would have to be carried out as effectively and swiftly as possible. On the day soon to follow, the destination of their search would be decided, and on the third day, rest and preparations would take place.

Morning dawned on Z.W.E.I. in the training ground. His skin permeated under a layer of sweat and each of his muscles ached with such vehemence that any lesser warrior would reconsider the use of his craft. Soon after, he bathed himself in water hot enough to feel his skin burning. A generous breakfast awaited afterwards – the kind of breakfast he was accustomed to consume during his adolescence.

Only such a vigorous start would prepare him for what he considered to be the dawn of a new life. For truth has set him free and vulnerable, stripped from the protection of ignorance, left in a storm in hostile wilder of the heart.

Viola was out of sight for the entire morning and afternoon. Only once night fell on the Citadel did Z.W.E.I. walk into her garden where she remained at her table. Tints of violet and red shone on her factions and surroundings, the colours and scents of the garden were lost under airs of mysticism. His feet walking on grass did not seem to make enough of a sound to disturb her, and as he sat on the chair in front of her, Viola's eyes closed in reflection and search did not give a sign of discomfort.

Once more attempting to exercise his patience, he remained completely silent and waited for Viola to open her eyes and hear him. He was greeted with his success within a few minutes when she slowly opened her eyes. She looked exhausted and needing of sleep.

The sight she was greeted with was of a different man than last night's. His eyes were not the only thing to hint something but before she could distinguish what was different, he spoke.

"Captain Siegfried waits in his quarters. Let's go." His voice sounded exceptionally cold and distant.

"Is something happening?" She asked, unable to hold her composure.

"We had best decide right now where we will search for our new champ. You've sensed somewhere nice to start looking, no?" The cold air to him dispelled as he proceeded.

"... Yes" She said reluctantly.

The ambience in Siegfried's quarters felt all too familiar by that time, but the one thing that was new to this place, deeply overwhelmed Viola. Expectation. Their leader's eyes were fixated on her, and though her friend was standing right at her side, she knew so were his.

"So far, we have considered several possible grounds to look. There are many factors to this decision, most of them uncertain. We are left with so many options, but this mission doesn't leave us with much time." Siegfried spoke in a stoic manner. "Miss. Have you sensed anything to narrow down our search?"

"Yes, Captain." She said. "There is one who walks a path of death, she stands on the edge before the abyss; there is yet another who hails from that very abyss, she follows closely behind... her intention is to perpetuate the circle of damnation." Viola stopped briefly to observe Siegfried's expression; his immutability signalled her to continue. "There is a third one that seeks on the trail of she who stands between redemption and unending taint."

Siegfried's expression had grown coloured with amazement.

"His name is the one Achilles so bereft mourned." She continued to deepen the merit of their expectation.

"Patroklos?" Z.W.E.I. asked with curiosity.

"His hands are as tainted as the one he pursues... but his soul stays innocent in conviction... He ambitions to save her." Viola concluded what her vision told her.

"This amount of detail... it is amazing. How can this be?" Their captain had let his wonder take over his expression.

"The short distance allows for me to see the most." Viola said, gradually igniting the hunger for the height of her revelation. The silence was a delight, the anticipation begged for her voice. "Klausenberg"

Her last word sealed the fate of the night. Their Captain was more than satisfied by her efforts. "Z.W.E.I. was right about you." He said. Viola showed no change in her expression but she struggled not to feel flustered.

Shortly after, the two were thanked and dismissed. In silence, they walked through the barely lit hallways of the Citadel. Z.W.E.I.'s voice sounded deep through the passage. "It was amazing. What is your take on this guy pursuing the girl?"

"It is only nature, Z.W.E.I. The two were linked, and now separated. Two elements cut from this bond must reunite." She said with words coming more from instinct than intellect.

"What do you mean?" His curiosity was touched in many levels by her words.

"They are siblings." Viola responded.

In that moment, silence arrived abruptly. The sound of his steps halted for a second before his hand rested on her shoulder. Viola felt a shiver down her back as she anticipated the coming taste of a moment.

"Viola." His voice felt soft like a whisper and strong like thunder.

"Z.W.E.I.?" She felt smaller in that moment, for she realized something was stirred in him.

"... Nothing. Thanks for aiding me." In that moment, he felt a barrier of his psyche so dangerously close to being crossed. The situation had grown delicate.

Viola nodded in silence and resumed her stride. As she walked further away from him, she began to run.

"Why!" She whispered to herself in anguish. Something terrible was in the air, the dread was unbearable, a strange feeling she could not ignore. Suddenly, it felt to her as if Death exhaled on her ear.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Dog

Z.W.E.I. and Viola did not see each other on the following day. From a strange breach in communication, they found themselves stranded in silence. Each swayed from restlessness by their own thoughts, opted to prepare for the day to come, when they were to embark on their mission.

Cold and distant by the day, their raw and pure nature was once again evident by night, when neither found any effective way to leash their train of thought into control. Viola was again assaulted by the unease and uncertainty; her red eyes chose a corner in the room, not too far from a fellow female cadet's bed – but no effort or imagination enabled for her to construct his shape in the darkness. For although her mother tongue was silence, there was a void opening further in her inability to see into him and the nonchalant air of her nature only served to seed fear into her.

In spite of his capability to go untouched by her power, she could read enough of him to know that something beckoned behind a thin veil. And what knowledge, experience or memory he held there could be one to bring him to his knees. Viola wanted to see him vulnerable; under the spell of the night, she wondered whether it was a morbid stimulus or affection what led this desire.

Z.W.E.I. himself was troubled, but for considerably different reasons. It was true that this new knowledge about their would-be champion was an unexpected strike, though it was only the silver-haired seer who kept him awake. As the true nature of their duty and his own ordeal came closer, apprehension settled in his psyche. In seasons past, he would have conformed to death in the line of his duty, only if life was pried from his bloody hands. But with affection, came fear as well... and what was once his priority was no more.

Europe in peace, where neither she nor he would ever be hunted again. Could such a thing be possible?

Time after dawn was but a mere blur to Viola. Her consciousness proper came into function when they were in the wagon headed for Klausenberg. His blue eyes pierced into hers as he began to speak.

"We're not too far now. We'd best make a plan now, I don't want to improvise" In his voice, the presence of wit was strong. If she would classify him, the snarky speech would undoubtedly be a symptom of his fighting spirit in vigour.

"What would you suggest?" She asked him.

Z.W.E.I. rubbed his chin with the hint of a beard to grow healthy and fair within a few days. "... Let me approach him first. You told us he is as much of a killer as his sister; if he is on the act soon, he won't be too cooperative and things may get messy if he sees more than one. What do you think?"

She felt a slight tint of annoyance about his suggestion, though she felt nowhere as offended as she did on their earliest days as part of Schwarzwind. "I have no problem with it. I will stay out of sight." She could not deny that he was speaking with a sound head and it would be indeed wiser to follow his way. "But I will not hesitate to interfere if something happens." Her voice sounded with a lighter tone, much to her discomfort.

Now in their hunting ground, Z.W.E.I. was quick to perceive the violence in the air. From the outskirts of Klausenberg, no sign in the faces of people hinted proximity to the source of this violence. But the smell of murder could never dodge the senses of a wolf.

"We must make our way deeper to the centre of the city. Come on." His mind was purely concentrated of his objective, so it was mere instinct that led him to grab her wrist and pull her as he ran. Viola had nearly been caught off guard, so her only discomfort was from almost dropping Quattor Orbis, for she found it rather pleasant to embark with him as her comrade.

As they gradually approached the heart of the city, bodies piled on the streets with increasing numbers. She could feel in his grip that he sensed the very man they sought. In their rush, she could see a man dressed in white with a commoner submitting to his will. In that moment, her partner let go of her and made haste to intercept the warrior's sword pining for innocent blood.

Viola beheld as the werewolf stood before their objective with the man he saved staying safe behind his presence.

"So you're that rampaging murderer, Patroklos Alexander." Z.W.E.I. spoke.

"Who are you calling a murderer?" The man they sought was a young swordsman dressed in the way of the warriors of the Holy Empire. His hair was blond and ruffled, his factions were fine and flattering and in spite of his killings, his eyes showed no malice. "He's a malfested! They're not even human! They are demons that have sold their souls to the Devil!" Both Z.W.E.I. and Viola found him to be a misled strength, an unstable spark. "They've taken my sister and killed my mother! What's wrong with avenging these crimes!"

In that moment, Patroklos lunged with sword and shield at full disposition to eliminate Z.W.E..I, whom he saw only as an obstacle in his path. The werewolf, on his part, received his momentum with his strength devoted to defence. Kreuzgriff clashed with the Holy Warrior's sword repeatedly with neither being able to best the other. But Viola saw from the distance how her friend held back his strength; clearly Z.W.E.I. intended only to test him. As Patroklos managed to gain the upper hand, Z.W.E.I. saw the potential in him.

In apparent victory, Patroklos stood with his sword pointed at the kneeling Z.W.E.I. His pride was vast, but so was the lupine's. He had seen with his own eyes how fit a champion would the Holy Warrior be, if given the proper guidance; there was no need to conform to loss now. A brooding smile formed in his face as his fist made the ground tremble, E.I.N. was to take victory.

From the whirlwind of the ether to the splendour of the spirit beast, Patroklos could only react by uttering an astonished "What?" The fist of E.I.N. made quick and short work out of Patroklos. Soon enough, the Holy Warrior found himself at swordpoint.

"Nothing's gonna change as long as you're under Dumas' thumb." Z.W.E.I. remarked slyly. "Did he ever actually give you any clue as to your sister's whereabouts?" He smiled, deliberately shameless.

"What do you know about her?" Patroklos sounded enraged.

Z.W.E.I. stayed silent and walked away, back to Viola. She took joy in seeing the capabilities of her partner, but questions heaped in her mind at such speed that she struggled to choose what she would ask first.

"Dumas?" She uttered in disbelief.

"Some words travel with such swiftness, you wouldn't believe it. Didn't mean to keep you in the dark, I will tell you when we get back." He seemed too easy about the turn of events. The way to this place took longer than the encounter and the exchange.

"But we... have not accomplished our mission." She stated severely.

"Oh, but the success will stem soon. He will come to us, by his own volition... I guarantee." His good mood was more evident as they walked back to the outskirts where they would take one more coach back to the domains of the Citadel.

Z.W.E.I knew more than he let on. Feelings contended with each other for dominance, all futile for all she harboured for him was a strange admiration.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Sepia

Since the day she found it, she knew her garden to become a place she would grow so accustomed to, but somehow her friend found a way to make her feel strange in it. The first thing that happened when Z.W.E.I. and she arrived back at the Citadel, he asked her to wait for him in place of solace. Most likely he wanted to give Siegfried a report on the mission's outcome. Regardless of his cool, she did not expect their Captain to take it likewise; he, as well as herself would soon need an explanation

Viola was not kept waiting for long in her chair. Sooner than she would have expected it, he was before her with a bowl of plums in one hand and a jug of wine in the other, his expression had not changed much since they left Patroklos in Klausenberg a few hours ago. She looked warily at him as he placed the bowl and jug on the table and sat down.

Z.W.E.I. took quick notice of her suspecting expression. "Oh yes, that's right... we need something to drink from... cups or something." Before he could stand up, her hand was quick to grab his wrist.

"... What is going on?" She asked sternly.

He sighed and remained put on his sit. "Lots of things are going on. You, of all people must be aware of it." Her expression grew annoyed as he said this. "I get it, you don't need to look at me like that. It is a long story, though."

"I like long stories." Viola said, retaining her stern demeanour.

"Fair enough. I need to get into the right mood, so..." He reached for the jug of wine and opened it, deliberately approaching it to his lips to aggravate Viola.

"Don't." Viola seemed less amused by the second. She reached for the case under the table where she stored the objects of her trade; incense, decks of cards, wine and two old small cups. "Here." She placed the cups on the table and observed him pouring the contents of the jug in the cups. The appearance of this beverage was unlike anything she had ever seen; it was white and milky-looking, with a strong yet sweet smell to it. "What is this?"

"Choujiu, it is Chinese rice wine I got as trade from one of the cadets. I thought you may like to try it." The peculiar aroma of the liquor made itself more than appealing to him.

"What did you trade for it?" Viola asked.

"You know, I felt rather compelled to tell you that I replied my dignity, my genitals or something of the sort. But truth be told, I simply agreed to let him know if there was peace in his homeland should I ever travel there. Too easy a price, if you ask me." Z.W.E.I. responded, to which the pale seer glanced in confusion. "Yeah, I guessed I would get nervous in telling this kind of thing. Bear with me."

Viola anticipated the tints his story would acquire from his unease in character and movement. Trouble expressed in his factions and the rapidness of his fingers to toy with the cup, yet he did not seem to shy away from revealing his knowledge to her. Little does she know, telling her the origin of his knowledge about Patroklos Alexander implied telling beyond the _res_ of interest.

Though still annoyed and intrigued, she was calm and tactful enough to try the wine, inviting Z.W.E.I. to follow in the same way. Just like the smell hinted, the taste was sweet but strong, with little to no spice to it like the liquors from Vilnius, sweet though not sugary like rum. Consistent as milk, its taste remained in their mouths for a long time.

"Well... in any army, one hears things, about people and nations. Mostly all rumours, but every once in a while, a striking true goes around and more often than not, it goes unsung until it is no more. You get the idea, right?" Z.W.E.I. spoke in a way that attracted her curiosity. Though she has always been foreign to the military world, such knowledge is common. As she nodded, he continued. "The navy is like that, but the information that is passed around overwhelms the land armies', the information tends to be "spicier" and what truths we do hear... are not so easily discarded. Many times, however, a bit of myth and imagination is weaved along. Sometimes the mood is right and you get so drunk and foul that you feel no priest in this world would indulge for you." At this point, Z.W.E.I. paused and snickered; his smile was salty and unlike any expression Viola had seen before. "You'd think that your mind has packed its bags and left you... but your ear will never do that." His expression became grim.

"You were a sailor?" She asked.

"At some point, yes. English navy... some captains tend to welcome foreigners, such was my case. I don't remember where was port we were stationed at, but I do remember it was harvest time. Dark clouds moved fast and built unusually, meaning the north-western wind would soon shift to eastern." His eyes remained on Viola but were not actually looking at her. She knew they were looking at the past. "When you live in the sea, you have to be a farmer of sorts, you need to become fluent in each dialect Mother Earth uses. A shift of winds is rare... some believe it is a sign. I think it was."

A hint of sadness painted his brood. In his face, she saw a labyrinth unfolding, revealing some of its safer passages and concealed doors. Viola wished in that moment, through his own willingness to tell her of his past, to be able to do the same thing for him. Whatever colours her lost memories were, only he would understand, she knew that much. She served one more cup for Z.W.E.I. and herself.

"If you were to hear a story about the Alexandra bloodline, nine times out of ten, you would hear also about Cervantes de León – and the fear, the destruction, the blood "he" brought with him. Soul Edge? We were not even sure to believe it existed, but he was real, oh so very real." He held the cup up to his lips and prepared to drink, but paused. "That night, a man was taken in. His name was Rothion Alexandra."

He finally drank.

"Was he related to Patroklos?" Viola asked.

"He was his father. He told us about his children and his late wife. The details of her death were something he spared from telling us... at that moment, he seemed like a man driven into lunacy by loss. He was looking for a war, a never-ending carnage in which his life could be taken..." Viola sensed that such a memory would not have a strange effect on Z.W.E.I. unless he related it to something else, behind which a great deal of pain pulsated. "Safe to say, I did not find him such a war. Before the eastern wind shifted once more, he was already gone. For many, this was nothing out of the extraordinary. But for us, seamen, it was the omen of a new age of shadows. 'Devils would walk on earth and bury out the dead, so the wicked soul of the sword would be fed back to life.' Colourful. Truth nonetheless."

Silence prevailed for a moment, the wine with no ripples cast and the clouds smothering the sun. The garden, once golden and adorned with shades of violet, was sunk into the brown and green tints of a sky dreaming of doomsday.

"Z.W.E.I. I know there is a reason why your soul is put at such unease, though I may not see it. Behind your eyes, a world has just exploded... why?" She knew she was taking a chance, but such an act was the most sincere vulnerability she knew how to express. Through the irony of her inability to see the past that otherwise is like an open book to her, and her desire to understand it, she hoped to return his kindness.

But he remained silent, a small while longer than she expected it.

His own sadness reflected in Viola's face. "I guess I won't have a thing to lose if I tell you. But that calls for a different kind of wine. He said to undo his influence on her mood.

"Which wine would you prefer?" As she asked him, it was clear how easier it was becoming for her to be warm.

"I like all wines. To this day, I haven't found the right one to season those words. I will leave that to you. It will be the wine of your choice, but it won't be on this day." Z.W.E.I. said assertive.

Viola nodded and drank from her cup.

"You know, with all this going on, it seems we have neglected the plums..." He went on to grab a bowl from the plum, and as the surface of his glove touched the fruit's skin, Viola placed her hand on his.

The quickness of the act surprised her as much as it surprised him. Strange sonnets from one William Shakespeare echoed in her head as she struggled to pull a thought from the cacophony of her emotions. Cold sweat rolled down her back in a manner all too similar to the first nights she travelled with him. Her eyes instinctively avoided him.

But before she knew it, he was too close for her to look away. He had stood from his seat and walked to her, he crouched at her side while her hand was encased by his. She felt flustered but fought inside to smother the warmth in her skin. Her fears were all abstractions and one of the greater ones was inevitability.

When his lips kissed hers, she experienced such a fear at full vigour Her powers yielded no fruition with him, yet she knew. Furthermore, she knew she would not resist him.

Red and blue melted into one; he is water as much as she, and she is fire and much as he. His hands caressed her face tenderly as their lips separated, the taste to remain in their mouths for a longer time. In that moment, warmth came over Viola in a way she did not expect. Felt like sunshine.

"Thank you..." She muttered.

"Why are you thanking me?" Z.W.E.I. sounded distant as if he felt shame.

"Because... you will give me memories, will you not?" She asked, fully knowing that there was no road back.

"Yes... yes. We will have new memories from this day on." The sadness of the moment was no more. In silence and in shades of sepia, happiness seemed to peek through the clouds.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Lead the Way

Two days have passed since Viola's and Z.W.E.I.'s breaths communed with each other. Their time spent in the garden of violets was becoming scarce in words, but in return they were, slowly but surely, becoming fluent in each other; Viola's cheek found its spot of comfort on his chest, and Z.W.E.I. found his left hand to instinctively rest on her right shoulder, his fingertips looked to acquaint with her birthmarks and her ears found music in his heartbeats.

Viola is not the first woman he has loved. There were at least a dozen before her; neither any less attractive than the pale seer that now found solace in his arms, but neither finding devotion in return for their affections. His days as man of the sea were over, the wandering werewolf found himself in a land to stay and protect at any cost. The way he held her was more than a loving gesture, rather the symbol of his ultimate purpose.

The nurturing of their love was known only to them. A more substantial expression could only come after the success of their mission; therefore, outside of the garden, they would be nothing to each other than comrades, soldiers of Schwarzwind... at least til night fell, and their dreams were flooded with images of the night wanderers, one as pale as the moon, the other covered in a veil of sun.

With the third day, a feeling of discontent emerged among the ranks of Schwarzwind. There were a small but growing number of cadets quite open about their view on the night wanderers' mission. The results not being apparent and the absence of their new champion raised doubts about their potential and usefulness. Viola could feel the eyes of the manpower on her with insulting demeanour; their expressions did not provoke any shame but clawed at her pride nevertheless. Composed as she may be, doubts on their positive effect on Schwarzwind came into question by herself even.

Evening at the dining hall was the dome where the murmuring and the offensive gazes heightened their tone. In spite of the clamour and the noise, Z.W.E.I.'s keen hearing allowed him to distinguish concrete phrases.

"That little useless tart..."

"Schtauffen should just get rid of them already..."

"They fooled me all along. I truly believed they would be of some use..."

"What a snarky cunt that Z.W.E.I. ..."

"I hope he catches fleas from that gypsy and pisses off soon..."

The volume of their comments started to grow to the point where his senses had no need to use their potential. Soon, one or several of them would be daring enough to make an open gesture to one of them. Z.W.E.I. took no offense at their remarks, for he understood their feelings. Each of them could likely share story with him, and lacking the means to make any significant change on the ordeal they all worked to fight through, would harbour hope about the werewolf and the oracle's efforts. Disappointment is a bitter, though sincere reaction; nevertheless, he hoped no one dared harm Viola, for then he would not hold back retaliation.

In spite of the common feeling, neither Captain Siegfried, nor Hildegard von Wolfkrone, nor any one of the higher rank officers seemed to share the majority's view. Their sole faith and trust on Z.W.E.I.'s instinct nullified the scorn of the cadets.

Viola did not share his calm. As the insults became less subtle, her patience wore out and any trace of hunger quenched itself with a furious pride refusing to take any more blows. As she stood up to head for her garden, the clamour was unbearable; with each step closer to the door, her pace quickened. Once feeling out of the sight of anyone, her expression fully acquired a colour of shame.

So deep was her embarrassment that even the night in her garden felt dry and motionless. Perhaps, only sleep would hold some mercy for her.

Now, in the female cadets' room she looked through the moonlit beds for her resting place. Her mindset added a bitter feeling to everything her eyes their gaze on, and so, the darkness of the room presented itself hostile and haunting to her.

She was quick though sloppy to undress. Under the covers, she felt cold and restless and no matter how tightly she gripped the sheets around her, nothing changed. Only when she buried her face into the pillow, she managed to stand over the thoughts of shame. An hour later, after being joined by other cadets in the room and still hearing their insulting remarks, she fell asleep.

Sleep may have been merciful in granting her the weariness, but dreams follow only their own law.

The scene was all too familiar. Sky of rust riddled by black clouds, war travelling through a corrupted field like music in a windless day. Death to give and death to take in every set of eyes, myriads of them. Though smell is barred in dreams, she quickly intruded a black taste on the back on her throat should her nose detect the blood in the air.

There were as many left standing as many left on the ground, lifeless. Disfigured, crippled, dismembered, charred by fire and blade. The figure that stood tall in the middle of the devastation was the same as the first time this dream greeted her.

Kreuzgriff in hand and E.I.N. by his side. Z.W.E.I.'s skin was darkened by burn and blood, unlikely to be his own. His gloves had been torn to ribbons, revealing his knuckles – wounded and marked by years of use. His veins jumping to prominence, the rhythm of his breathing and the paling colour of his eyes made it evident; the wolf was in his element.

No man equalled him but a distant figure Z.W.E.I. had his eyes on. With a single leap and a slash, the adversary had been slain.

Triumph, like the last time this dream visited her, was for naught. A narrow hole had been made in his stomach, bladeless but not bloodless. The ground cracked under him, opening into a hole not any different from his fatal would; swallowing and claiming him forever once it closed back into a markless ground.

The first coming of this dream, over a month ago, only frightened her. Now seeing the bond that has made itself so precious to her, threatened, she was on her knees, feeling in her flesh and under her skin the evil of the worlds and despair of hell.

This time, however, the dream continued after the loss of her beloved. No seep of the fiery sky was spared from the expansion of the black clouds. The dominion of the sun and the moon violated by darkness infinite, the only light in this unholy land came from spheres approaching towards Viola.

Eyes... red, just like hers, but not a mirror image of herself. They stood at a shorter height than hers.

No hint of factions appeared visible, but a small wounded hand reaching for her.

Just as soon as the hand was about to touch Viola's, she felt Z.W.E.I.'s presence... for one last time.

The dream ended with a choking sensation and as suddenly as shattering glass. Viola was curled in fetal position, powerless to find solace or serenity. Her tears came without delay as her voice produced sorrowful moaning that she had once believed unable to express. At that moment, she did not care for humiliations or insults from the cadets, but what happened next sent electricity through her spine.

A hand was placed on her shoulder in a comforting manner. Viola opened her eyes slowly, longing to see Z.W.E.I. but instead, Hilde greeted her with a motherly expression on her face, a child was with her, probably one of her sons. The boy felt curious when looking at Viola; in spite of her appearance of the moment, the boy reached for one of her fingers and grabbed to try a handshake. Viola swallowed some of her fear and tried to smile at the boy.

Only when she head Z.W.E.I.'s voice coming from outside in the courtyard she realized it was already daytime. Viola's relief was noticed.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain. This is Patroklos Alexander: the Holy Warrior, it's the guy I was telling you about."

Viola stood from the bed, keeping the sheets pressed against her body to avoid showing herself in front of her superior and a child. She approached the window to observe the scene. Z.W.E.I. and Patroklos were there, a blue sword before their feet.

Captain Siegfried Schtauffen had his sword pointing at Patroklos, awaiting for him to pick it up and stand in defence. "Then take up that sword. Crossing swords is the best way to know someone".

Seemed that after all, Z.W.E.I. was right and his patience was now to pay off. Viola felt relief.

Behind her, Hilde asked. "I heard some things of interest a few moments ago. Is there something you need off your chest?"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: A Peculiar Scent of Evil I

The dawn had brought such a remarkable image to the courtyard on that day. Two figures in defensive stance measuring each other; one of youthful talent and arrogance, the other of experienced swordsmanship and seasoned cool. In the middle, standing away from the line of clashing, the point of balance stands in anticipation – Z.W.E.I., young though weathered by bloodshed past, observed the unfolding consequence of what he knew was bound to happen. Much to his amusement, the rest of Schwarzwind, all looking through windows and open hallways, were sure to be eating their spoken insults by then.

Viola stood quiet by the window. Her eyes followed only Patroklos and Siegfried and dared not look at Z.W.E.I. for a single moment. Her will was split between this task and conjuring words to tell Siegfried's wife. Her very presence felt imposing, undoubtedly a product of her fiery upbringing, though still calming... undoubtedly a product of her role as mother; as such, Viola could no longer disregard her inquiry as she so easily did with others in the past – and if she lied, Hilde would know it.

"It was but a dream, Lady von Krone." Viola hoped the vague truth coming from her lips would suffice.

"A dream, I see." Hilde seemed to be satisfied by Viola's answer. Her very eyes were also fixated on the two swordsmen at sparring on the courtyard below. Patroklos was the first to lunge at Schwarzwind's leader, but the latter's defence proved to be as flexible as unrelenting. "From the very first moment I saw you two, I knew you lacked the psyche of the lesser warriors... for a mere dream to unleash your tears in such a manner, it must have been a bad dream."

Viola felt her voice breaking. "A very bad one, infernal and ghastly beyond what I've seen in every fate I've read. I dread only thinking about it-"

"And that is why you won't look at him, correct?" Hilde cut her off before her memory was allowed to wander back into the pit from which the dawn had liberated it. "Do you think it is fate you've dreamed of?"

Viola stayed silent, she bit her lips shut while her brain filled with the heat of anger and horror in the same quantity as it once was filled with coldness.

Hilde knew she could not tell her a lie, for Viola as well would distinguish it. The most valuable thing she could give the young seer for the time being was sincerity. "Read the classics all you would, but do not be fooled into thinking that the age of the tragedies is still ours. If it is destiny, nothing will stop you from changing it if you are strong enough." Her hand rested on the pale shoulder. "Do not disappoint me."

"I shall not, Lady von Krone" Viola's voice expressed the same unease but her thought machinery had been put at some calm by Hilde's words.

"Should the time come, I have faith you will honour your words. Now, quickly get dressed and meet me at the courtyard". Hilde exited the room, leaving Viola alone with quarrelling thoughts which accompanied her all the time through her dressing. Inevitably she would see Z.W.E.I. soon and she would struggle not to express to him what had aroused such fear in her.

Outside, the fight was nearing an end. Patroklos offensive proved effective and though Siegfried could still give a longer resistance, he opted to stop the exchange. He had seen what he needed to and conceded victory by the time Viola entered the edge of the swordsmanship's square.

The sword that was given to Patroklos started to shine with enchanting subtleness. "No need for alarm. This just means you are worthy to wield Soul Calibur."

In spite of his apparent non-chalance, Patroklos was evidently mystified by the sword's seemingly alive reaction to his grasp. "Never heard of it" He said.

"It is the spirit sword that is destined to stop the calamity brought on by the cursed sword Soul Edge." Siegfried, after years of endless carnage and a battle for redemption was on this day serene enough to tell his tale once more. "I was once its wielder. But ever since it destroyed Soul Edge seventeen years ago, it has all but lost its power. I had stopped wielding Soul Calibur since that fateful day. But just recently, I realized that the sword had changed, taking up a new form... it turned into the sword that you now hold. I am no longer the master of the spirit sword. "Both men, in close proximity, beheld the glory and war-like beauty of the sword. "It has selected you instead."

"So it chose me." Arrogance had not left the holy warrior's demeanour and shone even through the way he held the sword. "Does this sword have the power to destroy the malfested?"

Patroklos' single-mindedness discomforted Z.W.E.I. Siegfried reassured him at ease with a glimpse, and then proceeded to answer Patroklos' question. "The sword has the power to destroy Soul Edge. I'm sure it is effective against the malfested as well."

"In that case, I shall accept it gladly. It is the perfect too with which for me to wreak my revenge!" ´Patroklos spoke with a boasting attitude, earning him a feeling of doubt in Z.W.E.I.'s deed.

"I want you to wield Soul Calibur as a member of Schwarzwind and lend a hand in our fight." Siegfried voiced with no hesitation.

"I will no longer serve anyone." Patroklos remarked before attempting to intimidate Siegfried at the point of the sword. "Now, tell me what you know about my sister!"

"They have already been sightings of the girl with a ring blade." Siegfried's response was indifferent to Patroklos' menacing demeanour and the mention of 'a girl with a ring blade' sent a foul feeling through Viola's spine. "If you join and fight with us, we would be willing to help you out in return." A hawk flew over the Citadel in an eerie symbolism of the warrior's path. "The information about the ring blade is from eastern Sachsen. That's also where malfested attacks are on the rise."

"Then that's where I'll go look for her." Patroklos stated coldly.

Hilde signalled both Z.W.E.I. and Viola to step into the square, next to Siegfried. On the wolf's side, he knew that it would be another part of his duty to aid the holy warrior further; whereas Viola knew he would not dare leaving her out of a duty through which she too seeks to retribute their lives being saved.

"What do they want?" Patroklos asked crudely.

"Z.W.E.I. and Viola will be escorting you on your journey." Siegfried spoke.

"I don't need anyone's help!" Patroklos expressed in an annoyed and depreciating manner.

"The three of you are travelling together, and I won't hear otherwise, understood?" At Siegfried's command, a silent nodding from Z.W.E.I. and Viola was given. "And if you come across Nightmare, call for reinforcements."

Patroklos turned to face them in mocking disbelief. "You mean the Azure Knight that wielded Soul Edge? He is just a fairytale to keep idiots from trying to go after the sword. "

Siegfried's voice turned grave but did not lose its patient tone towards Soul Calibur's new wielder. "'Nightmare' is the name given to the wielder of Soul Edge. It transforms even the meekest into an unstoppable force." With a single silent look, he closed any further questions or mockery from Patroklos. "Well now that we're all agreed, the three of you should be on your way."

From the trees nearby, a crow emerged and flew away. A bad omen was not needed for the unease in Viola to resurface.

"What do you think of him?" Z.W.E.I. asked her discreetly.

"I don't like him" Viola expressed coarsely, earning a chuckle from the Werewolf.

For the time to come, they would not be in time or place to express their affections. The look on her red eyes sufficed to say what she would rather not in the presence of such an unruly champion, his blue eyes said likewise. As they made their way to Sachsen, Z.W.E.I. resisted an urge to hold her hand all the way through; his very instinct warned him not only of the dangers to come, but also that it is just what she wanted and needed on that day.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: A Peculiar Scent of Evil II

On the next dawn, the passage of the Night wanderers and the Holy Warrior was greeted by a hawk – and not simply an ordinary hawk. It had been sent from the Schwarzwind Citadel, carrying a message written on the very dusk of the previous day.

Instinctively, Z.W.E.I. examined the contents of the message in a closed range. Viola approached him to learn of the contents, whereas Patroklos remained several meters from them. He was visibly annoyed and impatient, but took the consideration to stay silent towards what could be confidential Schwarzwind affairs; it was simply none of his concern.

The message in question was visibly written with haste. "Fray. Schwarzwind operatives fighting foes of mysterious precedence. Sachsen. Reinforcement sent. Caution." However inconvenient this turn of events, it was nevertheless received with gratitude by Z.W.E.I. and Viola, for they saw it as a luxury to be given a warning of the dangers to come. If they were to fight soon, they would at least be prepared.

No other messages were received for two days to come. The adversaries may have been subdued, or the reinforcements may have been powerless to offer an effective resistance, either outcome would result on a sky clear of messaging birds. Viola sensed no darkness ahead, but the silence by itself established a subtle unease.

"It's been days since we set off." Patroklos spoke as they continued walking. "There's been no sign of the ring blade nor of any malfested. Are you sure the information was accurate?"

As if the spirits of the forest had reacted to Viola's thoughts, the silence was shattered by a flock of ravens stirring the life from trees ahead as the path narrowed. Just as sudden as this sound, so was an aura that made its appearance polluting the quiet winds over their heads. It was a lone figure ahead, no bigger or broader than the Holy Warrior, but more imposing: an ominous kind of power, stealthy and malicious.

"What was that?" Patroklos asked as the arrogance seemed to have left his voice.

Under the fall of black feathers, the lone figure made itself more apparent in the clearing at the end of the tree passageway.

"I finally found you." The voice of a woman began to speak, young in its taste and somewhat festive, though with a hint of cruelty within her joviality. "It's been a while, Patroklos. How's your search for your sister going?" The young woman was striking in her physical appearance. Bearing a ragged attire of green and black stripes of leather covering her body with spikes addressing the edges, abundant white and purple hair tied into long thick tails at both sides of her head, skin paler even than the moon called Viola, her burgundy eyes so full of life and at the same time devoid of what originates life; a birthmark on her right cheek and the sharpness of her factions gave a strange emphasis to her smile. She was a beautiful woman to look at, though poisonous for the gaze to stay on her.

"Who the hell are you? I've never-" Patroklos began to speak before being interrupted by the woman's agile wielding of her blade, as if she was anticipating his own offence. "That's a ring blade!"

The trio was left in anticipation. Z.W.E.I. and Viola showed themselves in a defensive stance, but Patroklos would not adopt any subtlety.

"Yes! It's my favourite! So I guess Soul Calibur is your favourite right now. Hmm?" The woman continued to toy with her weapon.

"It's the perfect weapon to rid the world of you filthy malfested!" Patroklos stood challenging, aching to lunge at the girl. "Now I'll show you what my Mother's Athenian style is capable of!" Sword in hand, he went forward like an unleashed beast. The nocturne duo opted to permit him attack on his own.

His slashing was clumsy though not completely devoid of technique. The woman manoeuvred with her blade in defensive tactics, letting him lead most of the rhythm for the moment being – his moved were driven purely by anger and she knew it. In the briefest lapse, Patroklos managed to break through her defence.

Feeling confident in having her at swordpoint, he began his questioning. "What did you do with my sister? Answer me!"

The girl with the ring blade was amused by his wrathful drive. "I'm not going to tell a wimpy little boy who's a pale imitation of his mother!" She knew just what stimuli would wound his pride or make his blood boil further. She ran away, with just the enough velocity to invite them to pursue her.

"Stop!" Patroklos began to pursue.

"Hey, she's just trying to provoke you!" Z.W.E.I. yelled as a voice of reason for the Holy Warrior, but Patroklos proved deaf to even his common sense.

The new Soul Calibur Champion ran mercilessly to catch up with her, Z.W.E.I. and Viola followed to anticipate a trap.

Soon, beyond the clearing and another passage of trees, the trio found itself in the middle of a barren land bathed in moonlight. Destruction lay around them, scorched banners and corpses on every place their eyes could set on – not a practical spot to orchestrate a trap, unless Patroklos were doing exactly what she expected.

"Stop right there or I'm going to have to hurt this poor little girl!" The pernicious young woman placed the edge of her blade near the neck of a young blonde woman who lay on the floor, seemingly unconscious. The girl had a shield which he recognised immediately – the Elk Shield, brandished by Sophitia Alexandra. "Poor little Pyrrha."

"No!" Through Patroklos' exclamation, the arrogance had left his being and only awareness remained. "Pyrrha!"

"Ooh, well look who's changed his tune." His foe mocked. "Now that he knows you're his sister, he suddenly gives a hoot!"

"This is your fault!" The anger had once more surfaced in Patroklos. "You took my sister and destroyed our family!"

His anger was fed her psychological power over him. Skilfully, he began to spin the inner side of her blade around her waist in a playful manner. "Now you're making me blush!"

Sword once more in hand, the Holy Warrior pointed at her. "You're just a pawn of the cursed sword! Give me back my sister!" The resolution in his voice was a hint of honour initially perceived by Z.W.E.I. during their first encounter, now an undeniable truth.

In the same sudden manner as she appeared, the ring wielder's voice changed. "What's that? Me?" Like the roar of a small, yet ruthless beast, she appeared now a different person. "The only pawn on this board is this stupid little girl!" She brutally kicked the unconscious girl in the abdomen, sending her away from the line in which Patroklos and her would collide.

Rage had come into coordination with his resolution. "You bitch!" Patroklos cursed as he prepared for a bloodier stand.

The fray was more savage than the previous one. Tira, the woman of the ring blade was no longer testing Patroklos; she fully intended to attack without restraints. Both Z.W.E.I. and Viola witnessed how Patroklos moved in a more firm way though still not different than a rabid dog. In the end, Patroklos did more than breaking through her guard. He legitimately put her in a predicament. Tira now decided to back down and prepare her retreat, but before doing so, she turned to look at Alexander's companions.

In the mere fraction of a second, Viola was deeply disturbed in being able to see corruption beyond remedy in Tira's eyes. As for Z.W.E.I., he got a wink and cheeky smile from her. This gesture was not lost in Viola, who stood in disbelief. Their non-chalance was shattered in that moment.

As Tira leapt from the war-ravaged field, Patroklos ran towards the body of his sister. Kneeling by her side, he saw her embracing the shield in such a frail manner that he felt a wound widening in the core of his mental build. She opened her eyes and looked at her own reflection on his shield.

She stood up slowly and asked. "You're Patroklos?" Her voice was smooth and timid.

Hearing the voice of his sister, the wound in his core gave way to a stream of emotion that ached for liberation since his youngest days. Speechless, he could only smile "I finally found you!" His voice flourished with relief and barely managed to express his feeling. He hurried to embrace her with a brother's love.

"I told you to be careful. Are you alright?" Z.W.E.I. seemed to have come around from the bizarre moment.

Viola approached Pyrrha and looked into Quattor Orbis. The crystal ball shone in a peculiar way. "This girl may be dangerous." After Patroklos expressed his confusion at her remark, she continued. "Red wine is different from white. Removing the grape skin makes all the difference." Z.W.E.I. turned to look at Viola, equally confused though aware that there had to be an essential meaning behind the obscurity of her words. "The difference becomes obvious in its taste."

Patroklos scoffed with no animosity. "Stop hiding your insults with these riddles! I'm leaving with my sister. If you have a problem with that, then don't bother coming along!" Patroklos started walking away, his pace signalled for Pyrrha to follow.

As the young girl passed by Z.W.E.I. and Viola, she turned to look at them. "I, um, I'm sorry." Z.W.E.I. felt amused by the polar difference between the siblings.

A few hours later, the four of them were heading west back into a safe area of the forest. At that moment, Patroklos turned to face the Schwarzwind duo and dryly said. "I'm done here."

"You're going home?" Z.W.E.I. asked in a surprised manner though aware that a prompt response of the sort was to be expected.

"Yes, I plan on living out the rest of my life with my sister. But first we need to learn more about each other." The Holy Warrior responded.

"The sun and the moon cannot rise together. Your wish to remain together is futile." Viola remarked stoically.

"Shut up! I'm tired of your threats and gibberish! I'm leaving Schwarzwind. Don't follow us!" Patroklos stated crudely before walking away with Pyrrha by his side.

"Was that necessary?" Z.W.E.I. asked Viola. "I know he is a dog, but his wish comes with no malice."

Viola turned from him and spoke coldly. "I only express what my vision shows me." In the enclosure of the woods, she felt increasingly uncomfortable. "I too wish I could offer a brighter hint of a destiny, Z.W.E.I. But I am not a liar." She felt his hand on her shoulder; the warmth she could not express earlier was on her hand which she placed on his. "Are you concerned?"

"About what?" The wolf asked.

"Indeed... about what?" In few words, she once more expressed frustration in not being able to see into his core.

"I kinda concern about everyone sometimes." Both hands on each shoulder, he rested his chin on her head in a chummy manner. "Do you think she poses a threat?"

"Who do you refer to?" Viola asked.

"His sister." Z.W.E.I. responded.

"It is murky, but there is something different in her essence from him, you or me. If she walks down the wrong path, she may unleash something terrible, but beyond that I cannot see... and yes, I am worried about the other one. She is strange; neither you nor I could detect her before she made her appearance. All I could see in her eyes was the abyss, and that worries me so much... it is unnatural. I pray it is the last we see of her." Viola turned to look at him. "Let's go back to the Citadel."

"Yeah" Z.W.E.I. responded. "I could also do with a drink. I got this taste in my mouth.

"What kind of taste?" The seer asked.

"Copper." He said. In that moment, they both knew it could not be a coincidence.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Groan of a New Waking Creature

It had not been more than a few hours that Z.W.E.I. and Viola were once more at the entrance of the Citadel. Their anxiety remained silent for the days that took them to return to the Schwarzwind fortress, disguised under small talk concerning the wild vegetation of the ominous woods and the scents of the war-riddled soil; truthfully they could only speak of the more pressing matters in a safe ground, for although the fiendful vixen of the ring blade had been bested on that night, she was surely far from defeated.

Z.W.E.I. asked Viola to wait for him at her garden; he was surely expected in Siegfried's quarters, along with a report on the mission.

"So, how did the Captain take the outcome of our mission?" She asked. Z.W.E.I. returned half an hour later and, through what she could see in his frustrated expression, she could anticipate the nature of circumstance.

"He... wasn't too happy. I've been chewed out plenty in the past, and he wasn't even that angry... but, you know, it feels worse, like-." Z.W.E.I. said with a true sense of shame in his voice.

"Disappointment?" She asked to anticipate his expression.

"Yeah. In either case, he seemed well aware that this was far from over. And again, we are left at the annoying side of the waiting game." The shame had begun to shift into a bitter tone, a bit too noticeable for Viola to ignore it.

After a moment of silence, Viola continued. "This disappointment... Siegfried is not disappointed in you... and you are disappointed as well." Viola stood from her chair and turned to look at her companion. "You truly believed in him, didn't you?"

His eyes turned to look at the setting sun. "It's all just a damned mess." He violently scratched his head. "So many things, factors, what not; doesn't really matter, unfinished business, is all"

"Come. Sit." Viola returned to her seat and reached for the chest under the table. "You may still need that drink." She pulled out a bottle of white wine, smooth and ideal to ease down his nerves after the unsavoury finale to the chapter they experienced several nights ago. "Does your breath taste like copper to you still?"

"Yeah, it is rather annoying." He replied.

Viola reached forward and smelled through a small opening in his lips; on this occasion, she leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek. "I don't smell a thing." She smiled with a hint of sadness as she served some wine for him.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Viola." He smiled back at her. He turned once more to the sun as he eased down the wine little by little, fully tasting what subtle elixir the reaping of tender grapes had yielded earlier that year.

Silence prevailed for some time until Viola decided to voice a concern. "What do you think she may have felt?" Z.W.E.I. looked at her, questioning. "That girl. Reunited with her brother after so long."

"Isn't that in your area of expertise?" Z.W.E.I. asked.

"I sensed something dangerous within her. But anything beyond was a mystery to me even." She rested her head on one hand and served a cup for herself with the other. "She may have walked all of her lifetime in the fog and suddenly, without anticipation, the air is pure and what was hidden since the birth of her conscience is now seen in full light. Her world must have surely been turned around." She turned to look at Z.W.E.I. "Suddenly she has a brother, just like suddenly I had you."

After all this time, she was no longer surprised about her own attachment towards Z.W.E.I. He, on the other hand, felt surprised about how he has managed to hold back warmer and more tender impulses; there were words aching to be said, fitting to what she just said like a specially crafted piece, but on the light of the fray being fought, he opted to hold his tongue. If she expected a more loving gesture from him, his hand encasing hers and the caressing of her fingers would have to do.

"Though the sun and the moon shan't rise together, do you wish something on them?" He asked.

"I wish peace, though I fear the cogs of fate will not favour such a wish just yet." Viola passed down some of the spirit. "In spite of her frailness and what seeds in her soul, she has a sound and docile disposition... unlike her brother... The reason for your faith, will you tell me the reason behind it?"

"That depends. Have you chosen the right wine for me to pour it all?" On that day, the brooding wolf had strayed from his ominous demeanour into something else.

Viola, however curious she was about the past of the man in front of him and his core motivation, could not afford to lie. "Not yet." She poured another helping of the wine for both. "This will have to do until then."

"Are you trying to inebriate me? Devious... but not problematic." Those were the last words he remembered saying that day. Everything else was lost in laughter and mildly drunken displays of affection between the wolf and the hooded seer.

Could it have been the wine? Riesling grape has never been so strong, and the taste, although tender, is nowhere as sweet as the lightest of rums. There was not a buzz or a spectral hum in their heads, not a loss of sight or resistance to momentum that could burn away the mask that conceals the desire. Their bodies, though slightly numbed, conjured no slurred speech. This was indeed, a different kind of drunkenness, new to both.

Night had fallen, and Viola had closed her eyes to fully give in. She felt his hands on her abdomen, gently pressed as she led a dancing pace, slow and clumsy – when the grace and beauty of movement were not pursued. Driven by the far away reminisce of the joy she felt when dancing, she made great effort to not utter a word, for If she had spoken on that moment, everything would have come pouring out. She loved him and knew he loved her back, but was the time right?

Now, there is no more now than the now, neither the now that came before nor the one now that is to greet with the new sun is any stronger than the perfect now of the moment that is yet to finish its cycle. Such has always been Z.W.E.I.'s life creed, but it no longer sufficed for him. His new concern and the gradual appearance of old memories in his psyche were enough to shake his cool; it was fortunate that Viola did not notice it.

The next thing he remembered was standing in a darkened room, wide enough to see some shapes in the shroud of night. He was dressed in the sleeping attire given to all cadets, barefoot and dry-mouthed. There was one shape nearby which he watched with dizziness – it was Viola. She was curled up in a small bed, covered almost completely by white sheets and a thicker cover. At that moment, he realized that he had somehow managed to sneak in the women's dormitory. The reason and means were a mystery to him.

He started to make his way to the men's dormitory as silently as he could, but before he got past the door frame, he instinctively turned back to look at Viola. Restless, there was no longer protection against the torrent of memories; his calmness had been shattered by the revival of the bloodiest days, the fallen comrades, the ashen sight of the ravaged monastery... his decision. His breathing was quiet but menaced to give itself away as a final thought surfaced: Dumas.

Z.W.E.I. did not risk staying any longer. One last glimpse at his sleeping beauty would have to suffice to fight back his hatred. Just as soon as his eyes were on her, the taste of copper returned to the back of his mouth – stronger now. He endured the feeling and quickly made his way to where he was supposed to be.

Before entering the dormitory, he looked through one of the windows in the hallway. His mind was no longer on the terrible things that came to life, rather on the sky outside. The night was given identity by a crescent moon with little amount of clouds in the sky, all disperse and idle. No wind by the look of it and certainly no humidity.

A storm was not always a bad omen, but a barely alive sky certainly was.

"Yeah... this is far from over." Z.W.E.I. said to himself, hoping to be able to do what he must, hoping to protect her, whatever may come.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Run Free

"Z.W.E.I. Wake up..." A thunder echoed in the distance, somewhere in the middle of a desert forsaken by the sunlight.

"Genius, absolute genius! I would be willing to say the spirit runs deep in your bloodline, the only thing you're missing is a good thick beard like mine!" Another thunder made its presence felt, further even, in the corner of a world ruled by obscurity.

"Sven, my love... how could you leave me... how...?" The storm teases with Mother Nature's throaty voice, but no Heaven weeps to quench the drought of this land.

"We've struggled for as long as we've had privilege of a conscience and the hands to empower the unfulfilled desire of the people. We don't have much time and we find ourselves outnumbered. Our outcome is not yet determined, but as for whatever may come, even if our flesh is to burn before the might of the Emperor's army, we shall not be forgotten and we will live through the war waged on them by our descendants. Gentlemen, my friends, it has been and honour." Another thunder accompanied by a gust of wind, some light in the horizon over the dunes.

"Please, Z.W.E.I. By the gods, please wake up" Finally, with a breeze in the middle of oblivion, there is sound above – clouds moving.

One more thunder, a raging flash in a world impossible. The sound of the steel blade, close to his flesh, and a burning sensation between his temples... the first howling.

"Ah, the werewolf; It is a pity that my blade will be clean of your wretched blood. Had my influence allowed it so, you would have been skinned alive, along with the rest of your comrades." The earth threatens to scorch the extent of the desert from its very foundations. The winds and the sands howl with the thoughts of the dead, the storm itself is an entity that he has struggled to suppress, the inner world that he's succeeded in keeping buried. His strength may falter soon, however.

"Z.W.E.I." Finally, the fate of the desert has been sealed by one last thunder. Rain falls on the desert now.

Z.W.E.I. opened his eyes, hoping to see the conjurer of the last thunder as his sight escaped from the blur, was confused in seeing instead the face of one of Schwarzwind's cadets – Xing Qiao, one of the newer recruits, the young woman Viola spars the most with.

"About time, I guess you are free from your rabies now... I hope you are satisfied, by the way." The girl looked at him in a stern though relieved manner. "Viola will come back soon."

"What happened?" Z.W.E.I. lifted his head from the grass. The sounds of a coming storm were in the material world, from which his core drew the pattern to revive the past; the rain was merely a breeze, promising to become much more soon. His head, abdomen and back were in pain.

"I wish I knew, and by the looks of it, neither did you. All I know is that you went berserk and Viola was the only one who could get close to you. She had to knock you out." Qiao told him. "She is not happy about it."

His expression grew concerned. "Did I..."

"Hurt her? Not at all, she was too fast and you were in some sort of trance. Listen, if you'd rather have things go smoothly, I think you'd better try to sleep or at least, appear still unconscious. You would not want to see her until she cools down." Finally remarked Qiao, to which Z.W.E.I. complied, defeated by shame.

When he next opened his eyes, night had fallen and the rain had passed. He was in one of the infirmary rooms of the Citadel. The pain had gone but restlessness remained and so did his anger towards himself about what happened.

"I was hoping it would happen again" He said. Viola was on a chair by his bed; although her face was concealed by the darkness of a room lit by only one humble candle, her presence he could feel anywhere. "I am sorry, Viola."

After a moment of silence, she finally spoke. "I had initially presumed I would stay angry at you for much longer... I wish you could have just stayed down, but it was not you. What happened to you?" Her voiced initially sounded cold and distant, but slowly grew to a more vulnerable feel.

"I know as much you do," He said.

Silence remained until shattered coldly by Viola. "You're lying." Her words were unexpected to him. "I don't need my ability to know that you lie." Her breathing was loud enough to signal that her anger remained latent. "You..."

"What are you talking about?" He asked agitatedly.

"What the tongue does not speak, sleeping mutter will... Tell me who you are!" Without a single hint of mercy in her voice, Viola showed herself in a completely new light.

"You know who I am-" He spoke before being abruptly cut.

"I don't. Tell me." Z.W.E.I. felt increasingly disturbed and fearful about whatever he said during his sleep. "Do it, now. What is your true name?"

"My name is Sven." He responded.

"Liar! Fiendish liar!" Her anger intensified as her voice hinted that she was about to choke in tears; she had stood up, with her back turned to him. "Damned be you and all you have known, damned be me if you are Sven... damned be me, damned be... me." She finally let her pain unwind as she sobbed loudly.

Finally, Z.W.E.I. knew what he had muttered. For although in the past he would have needed to hide the truth in order to protect those around him, this occasion demanded him to cast light on the darkness.

"Sit down and put the candle near you, I want to see you and I want you to see me." Z.W.E.I. said, devoid of any hint of vulnerability.

Viola sat back on the chair and put the candle closer to her. Her crying had only diminished in the volume of her sobbing, but from what he could see, her tears were still very much alive.

"Sven is the name that many knew me by, before taking on the name Z.W.E.I. In the English Navy, in the Silk Road, in Transylvania, I was Sven – not a mere man but a concept. I took upon this persona and forsook the name given to me on the day I was born, for the sake of filling a hole that needed to be filled." He spoke as he sensed Viola would need a few seconds to prepare herself for what she would dread to hear.

"Sven was my brother." At his words, he looked intensely at Viola as she looked at him, astonished. "He was a proud man with unequalled combat prowess and a noble heart. He knew just what needed to be done to bring peace to the continent, he knew where to strike and how, which would have to be taken out and which would be needed to fill the empty spaces. He and I shared the same desire, but at the time I knew I could never match to his capabilities, so instead of taking up the sword, I decided to hit the books." Z.W.E.I. stayed quiet for a moment before following with his story. "He himself had become an icon by the time he was killed in battle. The champion to redeem Europe was no more and the ideal was doomed to crumble to ash."

"So, you took your brother's name to keep the ideal alive?" Viola asked, more calmly as she started to put the pieces together.

"Yeah, I knew I could not wait any longer if I was to finish what he was to start. So I began a life of training and wandering, to get acquainted with what he must have seen. He was 30 by the time he died, I was 8." He revealed.

"I see." Viola expressed before taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes to prevent the tears she anticipated to come. "Who is Lyna?"

"My brother had travelled a lot and one of these travels had led him to Algeria, where he met a woman called Lyna. Had he survived, they would have married. She didn't know he had been killed and I know she waited for 11 years for him to come back." Z.W.E.I. looked at Viola. "I presume you heard me muttering something in my sleep; those were the words of my brother to Lyna on the last letter he wrote. His words of undying love and devotion to her, the promise of a future together... they stayed with me, I guess. I would not let my Brother's memory be dishonoured by leaving that chapter unfinished, so I travelled to deliver that letter and bring peace to Lyna and Sven's unfortunate souls.

Viola gasped violently before sighing in relief.

"After I delivered the letter, I realized I could not keep the persona for much longer. But in order to be able to continue what my Brother ambitioned to start, I needed to be a concept as well, so I discarded his name and my own. Hence, Z.W.E.I... Two." He looked towards the darkest corner of the room, as if the great figure of his Brother stood there, watching as his little Brother brought him back to life. "There is plenty more to my story, but now that I've told you this, you may find it in your being to let me speak of it some other time."

Viola wiped the tears from her face, the dry trail that had reached to the Schwarzwind training attire, making the white turn darker. Still breathing loudly, she said. "There is only one thing I want to hear. What is your true name?"

"Oliver" He said.

"Oliver... veritas liberabit vos. The truth shall set you free." Viola was suddenly interrupted by the wolf.

"I would appreciate if you continued to call me Z.W.E.I. For it is not a mere alias anymore, but the name you know me by. I would also like to know, why the muttering of those words caused you to cry like this." His intention made itself apparent.

"You know why... you and I both. We don't speak of it, because once we do, we will posses it and it will possess us. I am not ready to say it just yet, but you know it. The thought of an unbalance drills me to my core and leaves me paralyzed, powerless..." She said.

"There is no unbalance, Viola. And you don't need to say it. But I do." He grabbed hand and pulled her close. "I love you."

She did not permit her pride to provide for a hindrance, she sat on the bed and held him close; once more, they united in a passionate kiss that foretold of a more intense need for their bond. She knew he would not pressure her to say it, for he knew.

Deep in his thought, while the two embraced passionately, he knew that in a way, they have become stronger and weaker at the same time. He wished for the end of the fray to come soon, but he knew the drought and the fire was yet to occur.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: The Sanguine Sway of Dreams and the Little Death, Part I

It had been two days since Z.W.E.I. had fallen into trance. Though initially marked as an oddity, the second night gave way to a series of symptoms; fleeting and sudden fevers, muscular and bone ache, dehydration, and severe dizziness. A study of his symptomatology hinted the effects of a powerful poison but there were no visible wounds in his body. There was no apparent motive to these ailments and, though his strength was not majorly affected, the irregularity and unpredictability of the symptoms were the reason behind the medic's decision to keep him in the infirmary until the fevers and pains gave sign of relenting for a longer time.

During these days, he was allowed only one visitor. In spite of him expecting her, he was sincerely happy in seeing her by his bed even if she was allowed for only small whiles at a time.

"No wine?" The werewolf asked as the small dusty window gave pass to the last rays of sunshine for that day.

"It would not be advisable for you to get intoxicated in this state. If you are thirsty, there is plenty of water in that jug." Viola responded. She was weary in spite of not having dedicated any time to training for the past few days; nevertheless she gave no sign of wanting to be anywhere else.

"Ha, what am I, a dog?" He reckoned she would not be forgiving or indulgent in the slightest about the situation, hence her humour was evidently stale and dry. "Yeah, actually. I do sorta feel like a dog." Having jokingly made his remark, he reached for the jug and drank. "Warm... bloody warm."

"They can't take any chances. This doesn't seem like anything they are used to... Can't say I am not surprised or..." She cut her speech short with a sigh as she reached out to caress his unruly hair. "The horrors of war were unknown to me, but I feel even this is a rarity."

"Yeah, I am rather freaked out too." His words were slurred by an access of nausea. "If there is an evil rivalling Soul Edge, I've no doubt it is illness."

Viola continued to caress her partner's hair. Her eyes acquired a sad feel as her fingers toyed with his silver and black curls. "I don't remember being diseased once in my life. I am not particularly glad about being healthy right now."

"You really do not want to spend the day in this infirmary. That is for sure." He remarked. "And if you were, you'd probably die." Both Viola and he knew that he intended to joke, nevertheless, in the silence that ensued he felt how grave and heavy such words sounded even as a jest. "Sorry, that was inappropriate."

"So it was." Viola felt slightly offended by his words, but her ear having grown so versed in his voice caught on his intention, and so was quick to forgive his clumsiness of speech. "Are you cold?"

"No. Are you?" Z.W.E.I. asked.

"Yes." Viola stood from her chair to close the curtains on the window nearby. "This place would not be this cold if you weren't the only one here." In that moment, the wolf first noticed a change in her. She was not dressed in her accustomed way nor in the manner of Schwarzwind's cadets. She wore a discreet Hungarian dress of purple and burgundy tones, the fashion of young careless women – a rarity for the time and place, which gave a strange charm to her figure.

"That dress. You look good in it, but where...?" He was quick to ask.

"I bought it back in Milan. Do you like it?" She made a question of her own, and deliberately let her subtleness acquire a coquettish air.

"I thought I said I did. Viola... what the...? Oh, no." He snickered as he realized that there was something else different about her and as he realized what it was, the fact that it is not something new to him amused him further. She was drunk. "Viola, what are you up to?"

She remained silent as she approached his bed. He failed to mask his surprise when she did not go back to the chair, but rather sat on the edge of the bed and, within an instant, her hips moved closer to his body and the rest of her was getting closer even. Rather than sitting by his side, she laid by his side.

Her head and hands were quick to find a spot on his shoulders and chest. With her lips so moist and so close to his, he could smell a very sweet spirit in her breath. Her fingers felt steely as they traced lines on his chest and the rustic floral smell coming from her sweat hinted a facet of the pale seer unknown to him, and likely unknown to herself as well until that moment.

"I can conform to be separated in a wing because of our sexes, but not like this." Her voice appeared silky to him. "I feel my presence can purge this out of you, and yet it is not all." Her words were increasing in volume as did her physical gestures. "I've read about it and seen it as the little death in my visions but never practiced it, never cared for it even when its nature is spoken as holy by some. Please, do not say to me that my words are lost on you, please."

The intensity gushing out of her being demanded for an equal response, and Z.W.E.I. opted to let some of the river of his soul flow. His arms encased her small body, his left hand took her right shoulder and his right caressed her chin with his fingers delicately tracing the corners of her lips. "Do you hear this? Music, voices maybe? Is it purring or is it growling? They say the beast inside of me's going to get you." His voice felt coming from his vocal chords as a whisper though the effect they showed as Viola was left in awe put Z.W.E.I.'s control of himself into question.

"If you are to get me, then you are to become acquainted with the language of my body." Viola closed her eyes and climbed on top of him with her groin hovering over his stomach, her hands shook off all shyness as they led his palms through the curves of her body while his thumbs pressed on the lines that divided her abdomen from her hips. She opened her eyes with vehemence to suit the red colour of her iris, with a resolute and furious breath she spoke. "Do not stop, no matter what happens."

The dizziness quickly gave way to unleashing of desire in Z.W.E.I.'s head. His motion was stripped from brutality as he swiftly disrobed Viola from her dress, leaving her undergarments to be discarded in no different a manner than the shell of the sweetest fruit.

Her privates and her breasts were pale like porcelain. His bare fingers lovingly spoiled the surface of her skin as did his lips over her collarbones; her virginal sweat was salty to his taste. Throughout the tender beginning of the ritual, her hands caressed the wideness of his back and her lips were pressed against his forehead, anticipating the violence to ensue.

As his affections grew more intense, her fingers stung on his skin harder. When he stopped, she knew to hold her tongue, for if he was to make honour to his words, so should she.

Z.W.E.I. as nude as she was, laid her on the sheets with the palm of his hand covering her eyes. Soon, in the darkness of her inner self, she felt his flesh penetrate her; time stopped and her breathing stopped briefly when she felt someone inside of her, invited by her own will.

Z.W.E.I.'s motion was slow and patient, not desiring to be a simple act of fornication. Through spasms he felt her aching, the little death. Her voice muffled in pained grunts seemed only to beckon him to progress further and faster. Her head increasingly came nearer to the edge of the bed and within seconds, she felt no longer the thrust of the lupine man, for the world had vanished. She let go of herself as her upper body was left pending from the edge, the world had come back to existence only to explode, leaving only the two of them, deader and more alive at the same time.

Hours later, not a sound could be heard anywhere in the Citadel. Viola awoke next to Z.W.E.I. as half of an intimate embrace. She affectionately stayed with him in this position, yet she remained without falling back to sleep, for she did not trust the whim of her psyche to give way to the recurring nightmare.

She discreetly let go of Z.W.E.I. and reached for her clothes. She was reluctant to leave him, considering she got indulgence from Lady Hildegard to be given permission to care for him during the time he was in the infirmary. Regardless, she knew that the Captain's wife had the habit of honing her spears before dawn; if Viola left now, she may be able to speak to her privately.

She had permitted Z.W.E.I. to shatter the coldness and her love was now in the process of growing deeper into her soul. Viola felt the urge to let go of her fear, therefore she needed to communicate her night torment to someone else, someone who would understand.

Before sneaking out of the room, she kissed him on the forehead and watched him sleep for a few moments, just like she knew he had done during the days previous to being taken in by Schwarzwind.

As she walked out, she hurried in stealthy fashion for the barracks. Through each darkened hallway she ran like a doe, anxious and longing. Every step, however silent, did not go unnoticed; as a latent instinct, Z.W.E.I.'s psyche gave a jolt.

His calm sleep was shattered, for something had sparked within.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The Sanguine Sway of Dreams and the Little Death, Part II

As dawn approached, the forces that guide circumstance were put under the submission of duality. Two breaths, both as restless and anticipating, both attributed to a love that has but grown, both at the mercy of a world that can only be seen with the eye of the mind.

Viola wasted no time to let her senses catch up with her powerful and hasted way. Her knuckles knocked repeatedly on the heavy door of the barracks; such quick and violent impulse could only tell of an urge that needed to be quenched desperately. She only prayed the right person would be inside, and if such was the case, she would surely listen to the seer's torment. But nobody seemed to be on the other side of the door.

The pale wanderer felt deep frustration about her luck – the time in which she needed to a special kind of comfort, the kind that she would imagine a father or a mother would supply, and it was no option for Z.W.E.I. to know of these terrible dreams. It had to be Lady Hildegard, her and only her. Viola rested her forehead on the door out of exhaustion; the thought of withstanding the recurring nightmare again rendered her hearing unable to hear the approaching steps.

The door opened suddenly leaving Viola with no surface to rely on for which she clumsily lost balance and almost fell right on her face. However her natural motor instincts came back in time to avoid such an embarrassment, but nothing could be done to conceal the expression of her face. Hildegard was quick to pick up on this and motioned with a glance for Viola to come inside.

"May I offer you something to drink, eat?" Hilde asked as she approached the Hungarian styled water heater.

"No... Yes... No, perhaps not... Am I interrupting?" The seer expressed indecisively, unsure of how much should she allow herself to indulge in her superior's courtesy.

"Yes, some tea may help you to calm down. Jasmine, I would dare to guess." The former princess started to boil some water. "And no, you are not interrupting anything. Even I enjoy disrupting my routine every now and then. Now, I will ask you to stay quiet and catch your breath until I serve the tea; then we will go for a stroll, understood?" Hilde said.

The young woman nodded with more security, she thought it disrespectful to show weakness before an individual that has been treating her kindly and occasionally as an equal as well. During this time of silence, she collected her thoughts together to express what renders her to such chaos, the source inevitably leading to the man she left asleep in the infirmary bed.

In the mean time, Z.W.E.I.'s world appears as a limbo of the mind. Is he awake? Is he asleep still? He is still in bed, his thoughts flow but all is dark and he can't smell a thing. His hand reaches to his side only to find a hollow spot where his love was supposed to be.

"It must be a dream, then" His inner voice spoke wordlessly. Yet in spite of the darkness beyond the wall of sleep, he started to feel his previous symptoms resurface: nausea, shivering, likely a fever, a foul bitter taste in the back of his throat. Nothing was certain in this state so chose to test and experiment; a very simple mental exercise – to gather things said in what is certain to be the real world.

Phrases and scenes from his childhood and puberty were naturally summoned, words from his personal history under the alias Z.W.E.I., words from fugacious past lovers, family, friends, Viola.

When he got to recalling moments and conversations with her, something changed around him. He was undoubtedly in a dream, but not just an ordinary one for this felt like incarceration; no bars, no chains but something just as real in the abstract null atmosphere.

"Z.W.E.I. I was thinking... now that we are fighting alongside Schwarzwind, there is not a use in letting old phantoms cling of you. We are redeeming the damage done, so I will ask you one thing, from the bottom of my soul. Pursue Dumas no more."

Viola had said those words time before. He felt a deep inner conflict from her request, but he complied on the same degree she asked of him. Indeed, he had chosen to let go for there was something more important to him now.

"Viola" he exclaimed, echoing through what seemed to be a vast plain on the darkness. And just on dream's command, her figure appeared in the middle of the darkness, bringing light with her presence. A wide stone ground was revealed on which the two night wanderers stood now.

She turned around frantically looking for him; she shouted his name repeatedly, each time more restless than the last. The two of them were separate by mere metres, close enough for him to notice the expression on her face: it was fear, pure and stripped from all glimmer of hope. He intended to approach her but something kept him immobile, as if he was part of the abstraction rather than his presence being inside the dream.

Multiple towering columns with embedded torches appeared, surrounding the ground and tracing the perimeter as complete darkness outside the square. Within the darkness, lights appeared one by one, with the intensity of candles and in pairs like eyes of the condemned. Each pair pulsated with a heartbeat that sounded from beneath the ground, like the still beating heart of man buried alive; the heartbeat accelerated its rhythm as Viola looked called for him more desperately. Suddenly the beating stopped, the lights beyond the lines of columns disappeared. The light Viola had brought with her dimmed and in the barely observable scene, a familiar presence appeared in the blink of an eye, equally as summoned as gone afterwards. It was Dumas, but no longer when the instant passed. A different presence stood behind her.

It was the Azure Knight.

Viola had no time to react when she turned around to see him. His grotesque fiendful arm had caught her head and slammed her body on the ground, producing a muffled groan of pain.

At that moment, Z.W.E.I. felt brutal despair in seeing such a thing. As he struggled to somehow get closer to stop the monster, he realized he had become an actual presence in the dream, a man bound by chains to one of the columns, with eyelids removed, condemned to witness the excruciating suffering of his beloved and impotent to do a thing about it.

Within the grasp of the Azure Knight, a terrible great sword was at his despicably cruel disposition – Soul Edge, the bringer of damnation. Z.W.E.I. prayed and begged for the dream to end, but there was no escaping from this torture.

The wielder of the cursed sword did not hesitate nor relent his momentum as he sliced the seer, limb by limb. The werewolf wished to be deaf to be granted mercy from Viola's screams.

His name, under the agony and despair, it was his name she called for. For the impossibly long torture and the unforgivable crimes against her flesh, the only discernible sound was "Z.W.E.I."

Before his sanity was shattered, the sword was incrusted into the ground through what was left of her body. Her voice was last heard again in an almost inaudible whimper.

"Z.W.E.I... why?"

The chains were gone, his body was now free from the column. Z.W.E.I. ran to the corpse of his dearly beloved Viola. Her eyes were frozen and lifeless, fixated of him; the soulless window destroyed his spirit and brought him to his knees. With tears burning on his skin and screams that he was unable to hear himself though echoed with a particular sound, the epitome of agony was released, the pain of the world through the animalistic scream of a man that has witnessed the peak of all evils.

In that moment, we found himself on the infirmary bed. Free of all symptoms and discomfort, his muscles felt a vibrant energy within, as if not one time in his life had he experienced illness.

With his spirit still gravely wounded from his nightmare, he quickly dressed himself and without saying a word to the physician, searched for Viola in every place and through the words of every cadet. Finally, he felt monumental relief when one cadet told him that he saw her and Lady Hilde walking through one of the gardens of the Citadel.

"Are you alright, though?" The cadet asked. "Should you even be walking right now?"

"I'm OK, I guess I just had a real bad waking up." The werewolf explained himself.

"Fair enough. By the way, there is some guy asking to speak with you at the gates. Seems quite urgent." The cadet said.

"I see, thanks." Z.W.E.I. said attempting to seem as nonchalant as he could. He knew that after attending this new business, he would find Viola, regardless of where she was or who she was with, and he would hold as tight as he could. Perhaps even he would ask her to be his wife in that moment.

"Every night, I see him die. From the beginning of our travelling together, even before we could say we love each other." Viola expressed to Hilde as they walked. The seer's eyes looked with sadness at Siegfried's wife as they confessed that the two night wanderers had broken one of the most important rules within Schwarzwind.

"Taking your gift into consideration, it is extremely concerning. Mind you, I am looking at this from all angles; as a soldier and as a wife." Hildegard expressed warmly. "You needn't worry about our laws, not for now at least. But I can tell you, nothing and I do mean nothing is written in stone."

Viola looked sceptical through appreciative to Hilde's words. "I wish I could believe so, I'd give my soul to believe in it."

"Missy, you wouldn't believe what conviction and vehemence can accomplish in the name of duty and a cause. And love too is duty." Hilde retorted, with complete faith in her words.

"Duty..." Viola said to herself.

At the front gates, a familiar figure stood before Z.W.E.I.

"She was a malfested" Patroklos expressed painfully, almost in the verge of tears.

"Huh?" The wolf expressed in disbelief.

"Pyrrha was a malfested!" The holy warrior exclaimed, driven by the pain as fraternal love trumped his actions and former beliefs in a tragically stark fashion. "Dumas attacked us and she became a malfested –"

"Dumas? You ran into him?" With fresh thoughts from his dream, he prepared himself for what could be a new ordeal, though his honour code may clash with what he promised to Viola.

"Dumas turned into Nightmare and – no, Dumas was Nightmare!" Patroklos revealed in a mixture of a broken heart and searing anger.

Z.W.E.I.'s mind clicked coldly. There was no need to pretend nonchalance for that is all there was, cold and calculating. In time, he would find a way to redeem himself before his moon, for now he was to break his promise, not only to attribute to his own values that demand for him to aid a noble though misguided soul such as Patroklos in such an unfortunate turn of events, but also to protect what is most precious to him. No, what he saw in his nightmare would not ever come to pass for he would exterminate the Azure Knight. "Well, things just got a lot more interesting" His thoughts were condensed into cool words. "I'm gonna go talk to Siegfried. You wait right there."

As Viola walked through the Citadel's hallways, she saw Z.W.E.I. walking into the tower to the Captain's quarters. "Nothing is written in stone. I think I can believe in this." She said to herself.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: The Wolf's Howl

As was expected, Z.W.E.I. found his Captain in his quarters, occupied in skilfully polishing an ornamental blade. Siegfried shows little tolerance about his leisure and reading being so promptly interrupted but the ominous cadet's presence had a strange characteristic that could not be ignored. Though he remained silent as Z.W.E.I. stood at the door, his demeanour tacitly invited him to state his business; surely it was of utmost importance.

"Patroklos Alexander has returned, Captain." Z.W.E.I.'s words came with a hint of pride. Schwarzwind's leader saw the news as surprising though not unexpected; a fresh through discreet smile appeared on his face as he was now convinced he had placed his faith on the right man. "That's not all, though. Seems he has had a bitter encounter with Dumas. Captain, there is hell more to him than we thought."

Siegfried placed the sword on the rack and devoted his full attention at his soldier's news. He was able to detect the nature of what was to come in the tone that his voice had acquired.

"Dumas is Nightmare." Laconically and coldly, the werewolf expressed.

The Captain stayed silent and put in his spot. His eyes drifted slightly to the window as his fingers ran through his beard. "I see." He said just as stoically as he received the news. Both men felt rivers of thought becoming wild with echoes from the past and decisions to be made; Siegfried in particular felt a special kind of anger as he thought that his nemesis had acquired a new host, different than the ones before. "Are you surprised about this?" He asked.

"No. Not in the slightest." Z.W.E.I. had started to lose his cool. "Patroklos said his sister became a malfested as well."

"Hmm. Well, this has just taken a turn; what is his stance?" Siegfried asked.

"He seems to struggle between what he thinks as his duty and the love for his sister. I had a feeling he would be a decent new champion for the spirit sword but I could not foresee this." Z.W.E.I. expressed sourly.

"Your betrothed was right to doubt, it seems. No matter; it all amounts to one thing: this conflict may have his resolve shaken. We need to make sure." The Captain stated as he noticed the soldier's expression. "Yes, don't be surprised or concerned. We keep this rule of forbidding relations between our soldiers for sanitary purposes. If you two stay faithful to each other, then I won't have to worry about having my troops riddled with syphilis."

"Then you won't have to worry." He paused. "By the way, about that... there is something I need to talk about." Z.W.E.I. showed himself uneasy.

"It will have to wait." Siegfried stated sternly.

"No. It can't, I can't run the risk of her knowing. She can't read me with her powers but she may if I am not careful." His words earn a raised eyebrow from his superior. "Doesn't matter what we do with Patroklos, we have to end Nightmare. It is war we are heading to... and I want to keep Viola out of this."

"That's noble of you, but she fights under Schwarzwind." Siegfried responded, aware only to a degree of the struggle in the werewolf's psyche.

"You said it yourself, she will be my wife. Couldn't she get the privilege for this occasion?" Apprehension was evident in Z.W.E.I.'s voice, which Siegfried was quick to pick up on.

"If she complies with it, of course. But I recall she did not take it kindly when the idea was first proposed to her. If we know her pride at all, it won't be different this time. However, I think she will inevitably find out about this, one way or another. If you want her to stay out of this, you will have to come up with a way of your own." The Captain went over to his window to look out to the courtyard below where Viola stood, apparently waiting for Z.W.E.I. "I'm sorry. If it is any help, sometimes we need to be cruel to be kind."

Z.W.E.I. stood in silence. His eyes sunk momentarily to the ground as he pieced together what he might have to do to protect Viola from the looming threat and the terrible possibilities.

"Come now, we have a matter to settle." Siegfried called.

Both men made their way from the tower to the front gates. Viola was nowhere to be seen as they passed by the courtyard.

On her part, she knew that there was a matter of importance when Z.W.E.I. went directly to Siegfried after catching a glimpse of Patroklos' presence; she found it easy to read the Holy Warrior's heart and felt mildly disappointed in being right about his sister. Things that didn't matter to her, attachment or sympathy, had now been gradually taken within Viola's heart as another soul forged a bond with her.

Viola climbed a set of stairs that led her directly above the gate. She would rather inform herself about the nature of this affair from a position in which no interference could be possible.

"Did that really just happen?" She heard Patroklos say out of thin air as the look on his eyes seemed to somehow return to vivid conscience.

"Patroklos Alexander" The voice of Schwarzwind's leader sounded vigorously in the silence.

"What do you want? I've nothing to say." The voice of Patroklos sounded differently from the peculiar vulnerability from an instant before. Instead, he seemed to adopt his old demeanour, though he sounded strangely apathetic.

"If you wish to stay here, then vow that you will fight against Nightmare, even if it means killing your sister." Siegfried spoke sternly. At that moment, Viola was left astonished.

"Much worse that I had feared." She said to herself. From her furtive position, she turned to look at Z.W.E.I. shortly after. He stood silent and drifting.

Patroklos was unable to conjure a word. His conflict seemed to have gotten the best of him and his reluctance was immediately picked up by the former champion of Soul Calibur.

"So you're unwilling to make that vow. I guess I was wrong about you." Siegfried bitterly expressed as he reached to take the sword back from Patroklos.

"What are you doing?!" The supposed wielder of the spirit sword reacted quickly, as if his pride had received a wound.

"You can't fulfill the obligation as Soul Calibur's wielder in your present state. You must hand it over to someone who is much more worthy." Cold and pragmatic words from the Captain as he addressed what some considered to be an action in long need of fulfilment.

"No!" Patroklos stammered as he stepped back. "And who would be more worthy than me? You?"

In that moment, Z.W.E.I. approached resolute. His very steps spoke on his behalf.

"Z.W.E.I.? There's no way you can wield this ." Patroklos tried to assert until he was cut in speech by the calm voice of the wolf.

"Right now, I am more suited than you!" Z.W.E.I. said. The confidence and unrelenting pace of the night vigilante stated a truth that not even Patroklos could deny.

Like a stubborn child, the Holy Warrior adopted a defensive stance to prepare for an attack. "I won't let you have it!" He spoke as manner of challenge.

"Then I'll just take by force!" Z.W.E.I. shifted suddenly from a calm pace into a daring charge against Patroklos. The challenge had been tacitly accepted and once more, two side of a coin would clash in combat.

The Alexander heir was as quick and strong as he had shown during the encounter with Tira, but his moves were easily predicted by the versatile swordsmanship of the ominous combatant. Although Patroklos managed to parry most of his attacks, it was evident to anyone with cursory knowledge in the art of the fight that Z.W.E.I. was playing with him no different than a cat with a mouse before devouring it.

And indeed, he devoured Patroklos. Within the blink of an eye, Z.W.E.I. took a more offensive approach; he put no effort in defending, for his opponent was given no chance to counterattack. Soon, Patroklos was knocked into the ground by Kreuzgriff's hilt, he had been defeated and disarmed.

The werewolf approached like a menace looming over a fallen contender. Throughout the confrontation, he appeared with unflinching cool, but his expression began to shift. "Is that it?" He called as he summoned E.I.N. to strike ferociously at Patroklos "Weren't you going to honour your Mother's last wish?" With each word, his face contorted into sincere anger. "Didn't you promise your sister that you'd protect her?" The two wolves delivered an unforgiving blow that shattered the Arcadia Shield.

Humiliated, Patroklos lashed at him "Just shut up! What do you know!?"

"I don't know what you're going though, that's for damn sure! I'm not you!" Z.W.E.I yelled. Viola knew he forced such a statement; his ability for empathy was truly astonishing. "What would your mother have done? Would she have killed your sister because she's now a malfested?" His words were now stripped of any sort of anger and instead carried a hint of tenderness.

"Mother would've – she would have accepted her as she is." Patroklos was visibly shaken by his own past actions and his indecisiveness.

"If you can't accept what's going on with the world, your family of yourself, you can't protect anything!" His words thundered with undeniable truth, a truth that was evidently reaching Patroklos. On the verge of tears, Patroklos – the Holy Warrior reached understanding.

In that moment, the spirit sword lying on the ground started to glow with a spectral shine as its shape shifted from a great sword into a finer form.

"What-why?" Patroklos exclaimed astounded at what happened before his eyes.

"You need to accept everything, regardless of black and white" Z.W.E.I. approached "Only those that possess the will can wield the sword to champion another's cause"

"Another's cause?" Alexander asked as Z.W.E.I. picked up the sword.

"You know this form. This is the sword you used to fight with. Not that pale imitation of your mother's" Finally Patroklos was on his feet once more, with a clear view on the world around him and his duty. "Guess you've made your decision. Are you ready to accept who you are?" Z.W.E.I. asked with determination.

In a once surprising and unexpected gesture of honour, Patroklos ceremoniously accepted the sword from the hand of his rival. Silently, without shattering the atmosphere created, the Holy Warrior shifted quickly into a new stance, one that he was taught by a prodigious warrior and had been made his by years of faithful honing: it was an eastern stance, graceful and swift.

"Show me your true fight. The real you." The wolf of two souls spoke as he approached once more.

"I'll show you my resolve." Patroklos responded with a new tint in his voice, the one of an individual truly worthy of the sword.

The second encounter was different than the previous. It was no longer Z.W.E.I. against a dog; rather it was a faceoff between two equals. The skill showcased by both was almost a spectacle, pure swordsmanship and reflex. Indeed, this time it was Z.W.E.I. against a complete new man.

From this encounter, Patroklos managed to come as the victor.

"Thanks for the show." Z.W.E.I. expressed, worn from the fight. Both were left panting after the match, looking into each other's eyes with newfound respect.

Siegfried approached "Patroklos, now tell me your answer."

"I'm going to save my sister, no matter what!" He spoke not in the manner of the old Patroklos; his resolution was perceivable as a new phenomenon, a new state of being.

"Alright, I'll buy that enthusiasm, but how do you plan to go about it? We must hit Nightmare without any delays." Siegfried exposed. Viola felt shaken as she heard his words; Nightmare existed once more.

"Once Soul Calibur regains its full power I'm sure it can be done. Give me time to resurrect it." Patroklos spoke with a knowledge that was not given by him through Siegfried.

"You have an idea how?" Z.W.E.I. asked.

"A woman named Ivy told me that the three sacred treasures had something to do with it regaining its full power." Patroklos exposed. "I'll look for her first." With a warrior-like gesture he bid a farewell to the men that have granted him new light to his purpose and made his way for a fateful destination.

Viola reflected on the things that happened that morning. The resurfacing of the Azure Knight only brought terrible omens and she knew Z.W.E.I. was bound to fight him. Mixed feelings were stirred in her heart; on one side, she longed to escape from this road with her partner but on the other she could not dishonour her duty with those who saved her and Z.W.E.I.'s life.

She had seen a new facet to both the man she loves and the youngster who had been victim of a tragic turn of events.

There was no telling in detail of what awaited in the future. Even in this situation, her powers granted her not a glimpse of the things to come. Indeed, it all amounted to time. As they are bound to wait, she wished it lasted forever.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Taste

Viola had heard about it from her fellow cadets and murmurs of the _vox populi_, she had seen it in thoughts and fortunes, she had read about it and had foiled attempts to her own person; the will distorted and vulnerable by wine and mead. In spite of her untrusting ways, she never thought someone so close would do that to her. Though Z.W.E.I. inebriated her the night before, she could not feel the slightest resentment toward him.

In any case, she would give herself willingly to him, albeit with some shyness. But it was not pleasure with her flesh he sought, for he only hoped his words had a lesser impact if she were drunk.

"Within exactly a month, Schwarzwind will march into Hungary. Dumas is Nightmare and we've no choice but to fight him." He said it with a forced smile and a laconic tone hoping to ameliorate such a message.

In that moment, she shut her eyes and tightly as she could. Would she have preferred to hear this from a more frank Z.W.E.I.? Was this fake smile necessary? Was the wine? In a much too similar way to the red colour of her eyes, her now aggravated temper menaced to unleash fire in the garden.

"Fight him?" Viola sounded cold and sour, so different from the whimsical tone she took an hour ago. Too distant still from soberness, her voice contrasted with roused thoughts.

He was quick to pick up on this and discarded his forced demeanour. Looking into her eyes, he felt the anger build up with every second that passed; her mind was racing all too fast and the only way he could hope to do what the wine could not was with sincerity.

"You know we can't just fight him." He sighed. "Patroklos told me this morning. I didn't expect this would happen but I've no choice anymore."

With a brief moment passed, the Pale Seer unveiled an old part to her persona: Anger, raw and base. She furiously flung the bottle aside, along with some of her books and oils. "How dare you say this to me? You just chose to cast your promise before swine." Her eyes met his with surprise; he had indeed expected she would take the news harshly but there was no way he could know the terrible reason behind her reaction. "You promised me!"

"Listen! This was too big a surprise for me! I wanted to have nothing more to do with Dumas anymore, but..." He groaned. "You... you, wouldn't understand."

Viola stood up clumsily and almost stumbled into the ground before Z.W.E.I. himself stood to hold her.

"Why!?" She asked lividly.

Z.W.E.I. was truly unwilling to speak of his greatest reason to keep his feud alive and to end it himself. No words could be conjured as a satisfactory answer to her question.

Before his silence, Viola clung to his shoulders like a felid clawing for survival. Her eyes, on the verge of tears, inquired desperately. "I can't read you. You've revealed your past to me, but you won't let me in on this... Let me in."

She moved him more than he would let on. He truly wanted to let her in, to strip the entirety of his self for her only. But irony claimed a cruel hegemony on that night, for the two longed to let each other in, but neither would for fear of a dream that threatened to become happening.

Following a few minutes of silence, both understood how unnatural this situation had turned out to be. There was undeniably something horribly mistaken about the course of situation, but neither was willing to break the silence with such frightening starkness. When calm claimed reign once more, the two apologized without need for words; after such agitation, they didn't realized how exhausted they became. As if strings were cut from the fingertips of a puppetmaster, they let themselves fall on the grass.

Her head lay on his chest. Were they any less agitated, they may have very well fallen asleep in that moment.

"A month?" Viola asked.

"Yeah." Z.W.E.I. confirmed. Convinced to know what she meant by her question, he reassured her "Plenty of time still."

As if they had made a tacit agreement, no more words were spoken. She was too drunk to remember anything other than him taking her to the dormitory. The taste of the wine and the fruit were as easily discarded in her memory as the past she lived unaware of, all words were mingled together into a shapeless form that lost itself in her, for once, undisturbed sleep.

By the afternoon, the present moment, she was sitting by the outer wall of the Citadel. Otherwise listless entirely, Viola waited for Z.W.E.I. to come, for she heard in the morning that he had gone out.

Before sunset, her cold expression was met below by a discreet smile from the approaching wolf.

"Do you ever get tired of wine?" He yelled from a distance. As he came closer to the Citadel gates, the heaps and sacks he was carrying became more visible. In truth, he had gone out to carry out an errand given to him by the cooks, which he used as opportunity to clear his head from the sour night before and to buy something of his own interest. After delivering the sacks and supplies to the kitchen, he quickly made his way to Viola.

Without a word, he grabbed her by the wrist and hastened her to go with him over to a small cabin behind the barracks. She looked confused yet anticipating; whatever he had in mind, he looked enthusiastic enough. Inside the cabin, there were only a few candles, an improvised mattress and a thick barrel by one of the corners.

"Well?" He asked. "Wine, does it ever get old for you?"

Almost feeling out of herself, she could not help but smiling. "Yes?" Her curiosity was taking over.

Z.W.E.I. used the light from the oil lamp to ignite the rest of the candles in the room. Once, the room was properly lit, he approached the barrel and removed the cover. "Come here." He called.

The girl, pale as the moon, hesitated for a moment but approached nevertheless.

"Close your eyes and smell." He whispered in her ear.

By the moment, she doubted not. Considering his question of the previous instant and current request, she imagined what he was up to. She closed her eyes and moved closer to the barrel to smell the contents. It was a lively sound, like water swaying back and forth in a roused tide, nowhere as thick as blood or an improvised spirit, but possessing a much liberated flow. More curious, she leaned in closer to smell. Though at first she had expected a more penetrating smell, she was thrown off by surprise for the aroma was something unbelievably foreign to her, something that she could not describe as any other way than 'adorable'. It was peculiar scent alluding to innocence, purity and some sort of infantile mischief.

"What is this?" She, mystified, asked him.

"Really?" He expressed both legitimately surprised and amused. "I was positive you'd know what this is."

Viola turned to look at him mildly frustrated. The liquid's appearance could not give a hint about its nature from the modest lighting of the room; the most she could make out of it were tiny pieces of leaves floating on the surface of the barrel, not nearly enough to look into the mystery Z.W.E.I. had prepared for her.

"Try again" He said invitingly.

She felt his teasing and opted to follow through. She leaned forward and let her fingers hover over the surface as she sniffed more carefully. The experience was no different, but her intention to discover the nature of the mysterious liquid did not relent. Summoning back all the sensations she experienced the first time, she felt a kind of excitement, magic that could not be possible should she open her eyes. In the darkness behind her eyelids, the smell felt reminiscent and vaguely familiar, allusive and hinting. Rather approaching the truth, she was thrown further back into mystifying.

Suddenly her nerves stood still. Z.W.E.I. had his hand on her hip as he too leaned in to capture the scent. She heard him pick an object and submerge it into the liquid. It was a rudimentary cup that he approached towards her mouth.

"Taste" His words echoed hauntingly.

The rim of the cup was gently pressing below her lower lip. Slowly, Viola tipped the cup in to savour the mystery. Cool and spring-like, it was indeed no spirit brewed in the dark; it was sweet but strong, aromatic in every sense of the word as it slid down her throat. Pleasant, so very pleasant.

By the light of the candles, her lips shone from the lingering beverage. Unwilling to think that she could be so mystified and exposed from something so simple, she finally muttered "Saffron".

"Rosewater and Saffron" Z.W.E.I. spoke. "It has been a while since I last made it. I think I was around 8 then. My mother taught me to make it; she always used to say it is best served for someone who has been in the desert for too long, or someone who's been awfully restless."

"We've been restless for too long indeed." Viola expressed. With the swordsman's hand still on her, she felt a kind of excitement that she was barely getting acquainted with. She gave her virginity to him through trust, in that moment she felt aroused as her skin ached to be liberated from her dress. Although altered by desire, her reason prevailed strong enough to conceive that soon, she'd give herself out of love.

After drinking some more, she opened her eyes at last and hurried to look at the blue eyes that so beckoned her; her crimson windows were greeted with warmth and a sort of silent apology.

In a new embrace in each other's arms, Viola felt that he once again inebriated her and still not for the vile purpose she's often known of. Her desire beat as strong as his own but in that moment, she would rather appease her inner predator than compromising a moment so perfect in which there is no yesterday and no tomorrow. When you fight a war, a month is indeed plenty of time; when this precise moment comes to an end, she will not be able help but wish, playful and innocent, that this month lasts forever.

"I love you." Who said it first, would it matter?


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Sins

During his long travels in the desert and the weeks stranded at sea, the days had always mingled together into a blur of uncertainty and greyness. Purpose never wearing out by the passing of the sun and the moon, though like aching thirsts in the back of his throat, the progress of the seasons made him listless at times. The past 35 days in the Citadel have now mingled together into a blur as well; but were he to think slightly harder, he'd have uncountable colours and joys falling into his lap. The man known as Z.W.E.I. is coming to face one of the hardest moments in his life.

He has devoted his past days into overseeing the organizing of Schwarzwind's ranks for the march into Hungary, the honing of his skills and, above all, experiencing the full taste of his life with Viola. But time, unforgiving as it is, demands for the moment to arrive. One that he knows his love dreads as much as he himself does.

Morning's sunshine caresses the grass, the trees and the flowers in a place that had become known as the Seer's Garden. For such brightness of nature to bathe the surroundings in such a perfect matter, the scenery at this private haven looks inexplicably gloom. Many times, the young Mistress of the Garden has indulged herself in little luxuries of negligence, such as leaving her books, wide open at times, and her cards on any suitable place at the table; Quattor Orbis as well had been left at times in the sole company of the living green. However, on this day, no such luxury has been taken. The table is completely empty.

Z.W.E.I. loses himself on the sight of the desolated surface. No stain from carelessness, no sign of the evenings they spent together. Not even when she had felt aggravated has she erased any hint of her presence like this. Quietly, a wild restlessness began to stir in him. Where is she?

All had been joy and pleasure within that month, so much that they did not talk about it. But indeed, they only kept it down for they never reached a safe ground on what was to happen. Now that the day has come, there is no telling on what she has decided to do. Did she leave the Citadel?

With his breath rebelliously escaping him, Z.W.E.I. ran through each hallway and entered each room with the same question printed in his tongue and never wearing out. Adding to his despair, his ears only received one answer. Much has changed since they first became members of Schwarzwind, the way many looked on them changed from defensiveness into sincere fondness. The werewolf could not conceal his distress and furthermore, he found sympathy from everyone he encountered about Viola's disappearance. Why is she doing this?

The beast within was aching to come out in response to this unbearable greyness of a mystery. His limbs felt numb from the serotonin rush, the saliva in his mouth started to accumulate almost into foam and his head ached heavily from questions without an answered flooding his rationale. They slept together on the night before, and not even before she fell asleep in his arms did she mention anything about the following day. Her disappearance, the dull sunshine, everything amounted into a dystopian nature on that precise day when the march into Hungary would begin.

Suddenly, Z.W.E.I. stopped in his tracks with his factions frozen in a moment of realization. Indeed, considering the history between the two, it was unnatural for her to disappear but on a deeper level, discarding what he now saw as meaningless trifles, it made perfect sense. She did not say a thing the night before, why would she? Nothing was settled about the matter on Nightmare turning out to be Dumas, why would she leave it like that?

She wouldn't. That was the matter.

Restlessness did not diminish but he was no longer the untamed beast of a brief moment ago. He could not know where she was but he was certain that she was still in the Citadel, somewhere. His acute sense of smell yielded no hint on her possible location and attempting to trace her would succeed only in making him look hilariously like a true wolf. She did not want to be found; therefore all his efforts would be for naught.

"Hey you!" A voice called nearby. He turned to see Xing Qiao approaching. "I hear you're looking for Viola. Any news on that?" She asked.

"No. I kinda thought you'd know." Z.W.E.I. responded giving merit to how the slender Chinese swordswoman had grown to become a trustworthy friend to Viola. "I've looked everywhere."

"Figures. I was asking around as well until I ran into Lady von Krone. She scolded me quite harshly!" Qiao added with an inappropriate, otherwise entertaining, impression of Hilde. "Why are you not in the main courtyard!? Quit slacking and drag your hide at once!" Slightly amused by her own impression, she continued. "So there is a briefing at the courtyard before we start heading into Denevér. Didn't see you anywhere, so, I came looking for you."

"May not be the best time, Qiao" He responded, evidently listless about the matter.

"It's important. Look, I know what is going on between the two of you, but you're still Schwarzwind like me. We are devoting our strength to this and, well you have contributed a lot to us! It would be ridiculous for you not to be there. Besides, Viola is Schwarzwind too, she should be there too."

"Our superiors, they're at the courtyard too?" He asked.

"Yep. Come on now, we ain't got much time, you know." With her final words, the two of them made their way to the courtyard for the briefing and last preparations.

The courtyard was flooded with rows of cadets, blades and noise. Siegfried Schtauffen and Hildegard von Krone stood on an improvised podium giving the detailed briefing on the course of action. The strategic routes and points of attack were already known by Z.W.E.I. for he had himself aided in the mapping and crafting of Schwarzwind's plan, no differently than he did alongside István Bockskai during the rebellion in Transylvania. All of his attention was focused on trying to spot Viola in the crowd but to no avail. If she was indeed at the courtyard, hearing the briefing with the rest of their comrades, she was still too small to be seen.

After the briefing, a few minutes were conceded before the beginning of the march. Siegfried hurried on to the front ranks to lead; Hilde on the other hand, having noticed Z.W.E.I.'s restlessness throughout the entire time, approached him.

"Good morning, Mister. Are you ready?" She asked respectfully.

"Y-yes, Milady" The wolf was still evidently at unease, something so unusual in him as far as Hilde could know.

"No no. Hilde. Leave the titles for times of peace, cadet." She reprimanded mildly, somewhat humoured at his response. "I must say you look quite flustered. I've never seen you like this. Is something the matter?"

"No, Hilde. I just... My partner, she's... I haven't seen her since last night, I mean, yesterday." Z.W.E.I. was unable and uninterested to pose nonchalance.

Hilde's expression grew somewhat concerned. "She should be somewhere around here. The gates have been locked since last night too." She smiled kindly, reassuring him that she had no taboo about Viola and him. "She doesn't seem like one who would neglect her duties either. I'll tell you what. You will do me a favour and I will do a favour for you in return."

Z.W.E.I. blinked in confusion, hoping his superior's words to mean differently than many indecorous proposals he has heard before in similar words. "What can I do for you?"

"You will take this brief recess to put yourself at ease. In this state, you'd hardly be the warrior we've come to know and whose help we will need on this day. Cool off and then come back. In return, I will help you look for Viola; I guarantee she will be found by the time you get back. Do we agree?" She commanded under the disguise of an amicable proposal.

He nodded wordlessly, glad to have her aid.

A shade of sadness came over Hilde's beautiful face as Z.W.E.I. walked into the hallways of the Citadel. When being sure that he was out of sight, she hurried on to the front ranks to call for the march's start as soon as possible.

Back inside the Citadel, Z.W.E.I. started walking over to the fountain to refresh himself when, once more he stopped dead in his tracks. A familiar scent made itself strongly noticeable. It was Viola's. He turned around quickly to catch a glimpse of her but she was nowhere in sight; all he had was a trace that hinted to be followed. As he began following the trail to the source, his mind pieced together what was happening and dreaded every step closer to the origin of the scent.

Finally, he found himself by the barracks. The smell was undoubtedly coming from this place and, within an instant, the conjurer of the trace was in plain sight. Under the shade of a tree, a small and slender feminine figure stood quiet. The hood of her dress was placed as low as it could, partially concealing her eyes. Despite being apart by around 14 meters, Z.W.E.I. could see a humid glow on her lips and dripping from her eyelashes. Her right hand brandished long steely sharp claws. 14 meters apart and Z.W.E.I. could clearly hear her agitated breathing.

The world froze in that moment. Viola knew what she had to do and so did Z.W.E.I. though neither was completely willing.

A painful blow shot against his back. She had taken the initiative, Quattor Orbis was quite an effective weapon, and the werewolf had underestimated just how much now that he was on the receiving end. As he doubled over, he saw the shadow of the orb return to its Master at an incredible speed, tracing circles in the air now aiming at him. He was to receive another sure blow were she to command it.

Viola approached. "Do we have to fight?" She asked, heartbroken as her voice could reveal.

Kneeling, with Kreuzgriff in his left hand, Z.W.E.I. was prepared to receive another attack shortly. "Yeah" He felt nauseated about the measures that needed to be taken. "I guess we do."

"You don't have to do this. You gave them their champion; you shaped him into all they expected. Even if you were more fitting to wield the sword yourself, you paid our debt. You don't owe a thing anymore!" What she refrained from saying the night before was now expressed like a fiery river. "Stay with me. Please, just stay."

Silence for a few seconds, Z.W.E.I felt himself choked by his own feelings, strangled by his fears, and condemned by his unspoken oath to her. "You don't understand."

"Help me understand. I asked Lady von Krone and the most people I could find to help me get this chance to understand. Why won't you let go? Please, talk to me." Tears streamed down her face, more powerfully than ever.

He raised his head to look at her for their eyes to meet and their tears to tacitly request for another way. Z.W.E.I. said all he had the courage to. "I'm doing this for us."

"For us?" Her, at first sorrowful tone, changed into anger. "Then so be it!"

Viola resumed her attack. Quattor Orbis dealt a powerful strike against the werewolf's head while she charged to strike on the other side with her knee. As Z.W.E.I. finally managed to stand in defence, he caught the smell of wine that made her lips glow under the shade of the tree.

She had evidently ingested enough alcohol to eliminate hesitation. If he hoped to eliminate the fiend that was to threaten her life, he would too have to discard hesitation.

He slashed with Kreuzgriff but found only air as she seemed to dodge and slide in between his attacks with ease while she continued to attack with Quattor Orbis. His fists and kicks as well proved ineffective as she daringly used his own momentum to misguide his offence. When he got too close, she attempted to disarm him by clawing at his hands; this was a chance for him to grab her arm and engage a vise. He never expected to hold her in such a manner but, as he slowly applied more pressure, it was preferable to render her unconscious than causing further damage.

Despite her small frame, she proved surprisingly resilient as she managed to endure long enough to slide her chin under his arm and viciously bite as strong she could. When she managed to break free, her anger fuelled her attacks making the punishment upon Z.W.E.I. more painful but also clumsier. This enabled a counterattack in the form of a blow with the hilt of his sword on her stomach.

This damage did not slow her down for long as she managed to retort with equal strength. The encounter dragged on for several minutes with neither being able to best the other. A wolf fighting with incredible strength and a cat fighting with amazing guile, it would take wit for the fight to be brought to an end.

Finally Viola got an upper hand, hoping to knock him out as soon as possible, dealt blow after blow. Unaware that she was playing out the role Z.W.E.I. had expected her to, she got close and careless enough to be beyond the command of her reflexes.

E.I.N. was summoned right before her as she was running towards Z.W.E.I. Startled by the sudden appearance, she doubted her ability to withstand an attack from this being of the Ether. She had too much momentum to retreat and in too close a proximity to hope to be able to defend. She could, however, have found a way to escape his tactic but it was too late by the time she realized he tricked her.

The roar of the beast was a mere distraction. The hidden ace was a palm strike dealt at the base of her neck, ameliorated though strong enough to render her unable to stand up after hitting the ground. It worked.

Panting in the midst of sobbing borne of sadness and frustration, she could only hold her hands to her chest. He could not bear to turn and look at her, defeated by his hands.

"Forgive me, Viola" He spoke as firmly as he could.

"Why couldn't I stop you!?" She expressed with a suffocated string of a voice before falling unconscious.

He could not keep it together anymore as he fell on his knees, crying like a child and damning himself for what he'd done. In between his tears, a raw primal scream was birthing from the bowels of his soul, a testament for the all-consuming hatred towards Dumas. After having done this to the love of his life, he could only halfway forgive himself if he were to exterminate Nightmare, to bring the end of the cause of the evil that plagued Oliver's life.

By the time the duel was over, Schwarzwind had already left for Hungary. Indeed, it was all a ruse designed for Viola to stop Z.W.E.I. from going to face Dumas. Had it succeeded, he'd be the one in her arms having his wounds cleaned by the Seer at the fountain. With extreme care and gentleness, he washed her injuries while he held her tight. Afterwards, he carried her to the dormitory and lay her on a bed. Bidding a farewell and a promise to redeem for what he's done through a kiss on her forehead, he left to treat his wounds and to leave as soon as he could.

He knew that she too would leave for Hungary when she woke up. Z.W.E.I. hoped Dumas to be annihilated by then.

As he put the Citadel behind him, the eyes of the werewolf engaged on a resolution that stared across the ages. The sacrifice of innocence by the cause of Graf Dumas, the famine and the disease, corruption and crimes beyond humanity, the persecution that Viola had to endure by herself before their paths crossed, the burning and slaughtering in the monastery that cradled his birth, the blood of children, the blood of scholars, the blood of believers, the blood of his Mother, the blood of his Father, the blood of his Brother, the tainting of the Thames, the cruelty and injustice. Z.W.E.I. may have forged a champion of the spirit sword to stand against Soul Edge, but the expiation of sins would be carried out by the finale of his mission.

Kreuzgriff, a sword made from his design, forged in humbleness and imagined through a symbol of faith for many. The belief of the masses means little to him, his blade shall silently echo what many others vow and boast: Justice.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Phantom Road (Reprise)

Sun and Moon. Two lights cast on the world inherited from before the Ancient, two witnesses to the sins and the prowess of man, two different eyes on the same story.

Viola came back to her senses roughly an hour after Z.W.E.I. had left. The sea of her thoughts was roused into madness and tempest over what happened; her failure to prevent her fear materializing out of thin air and dreams, and the actions to undertake soon. It was likely that the werewolf had chosen to catch up with Schwarzwind's advance, steady and practical but slow. If she was to take matters into her own might, she was to leave soon and travel alone, a manner through which none would hinder her way. If she had made it for such a long time on her own, before he came into her life, this would not be such an inconvenience. He only managed to dodge her first move, but he shan't fall prey to the fate that awaited him in Hungary.

"How could I be so foolish?" The seer spoke to herself, alone by the fountain with her body still aching from her resolved stand. "Hungary, Dumas. It was all so clear from the very beginning.".

It is the midst of autumn: close enough to the ideal season for the exporting of textiles to leave for the East. Should luck be on her favour, she may be able to find a merchant route offering bargains.

Two weeks passed.

It is a poorly brewed spirit, too earthy and hastened, product of a neglected soil and bad orientation in relation to the sun. Too bad a wine that it is perfect to get his nerves set, his moves swift and his mind bloody. Z.W.E.I. paid close attention to the scout hurrying breathless and panting into the tent. Indeed, Dumas had been expecting them and he was appropriately suited to welcome Schwarzwind. The moments to follow were to pass in a blur; what mattered only was to charge out of the camp to encounter the front ranks of Dumas' army. Everything else is meaningless.

As Schwarzwind's front flanks came out in a roar of marching, the sky blazed in dying sunlight. The very air seemed only breathable for Death and the overwhelming numbers and siege disposition of the opposing side would require for each and every single man and woman fighting under Captain Siegfried Schtauffen's lead to become Grim Reapers.

Advancing in a phalanx, Z.W.E.I.'s muscles ached to court violence. Siegfried was a brilliant strategist and a loyal friend. If one such was to face the horror incarnated as Nightmare, it was no longer his perfect enemy. Time had come to pass the torch to a younger, stronger champion; it was the Warrior of the Night's turn to bring his feud to an end. The wolf was not to advance with the central portion of the phalanx; his position within one of the two extremes to hasten his advance towards his enemy was decided with a coin.

Left.

Left, right, left. The heartbeats were strong enough to deafen a world. Silence.

Now.

"CHARGE!" A Valkyrie's yell came from the burning core of Hilde von Wolfkrone. Z.W.E.I. felt an electric wind rushing through the unions of his muscles and the narrow of his bones with this and, not too far away, barely within the sight of Denevér's domains, so did Viola. She arrived barely in time. The hellish ballet of swords has begun.

Time stopped having any meaning when the Phalanx penetrated all defences and strategy was reduced to pure bloodshed between unorthodoxly trained warriors and a legion of malfested. Guns blazing, catapults launching, swords clashing, Z.W.E.I. could not ever hear his own thoughts and that was a good thing; the less he thought of the mission, the less he thought about Viola, the better. Siegfried had taken major risk in advancing with the centre portion of Schwarzwind, the one with the least favourable position, but still had managed to penetrated deep into the core of the fight, like a needle plunged into a heart. With the relentless wielding of his zwei-hander, Requiem, he devastated all who attacked him; his charge put him in close proximity to Z.W.E.I, whose might made him an unstoppable force, and had them fighting back to back.

In spite of the strategic superiority and the power of Schwarzwind's forces, the enemy was still considerably strong.

"They keep coming." Siegfried remarked stoically. The wolf's breathing was audible enough to give away his impatience. He realized he had done the required thing at the precise time; the court were Dumas would be waiting, lay not too far ahead and dragging the fray longer would only wear down their momentum. "Go on ahead without me, I'll be fine." He said, prompting him to advance like a carefully aimed arrow.

"Thanks, Captain." Z.W.E.I. responded. Indeed, Captain Schtauffen had helped him all the way and now he would pay with utmost gratitude by decapitating the Hungarian cursed army.

As he ran further in, away from the main bulk of the army, he only had to eliminate the generals.

Woes was the first general's name. Savagely wielding a great axe, his strength made his weakness too easy to be spotted. Z.W.E.I. made short work of him.

The second general, Oder, spoke with a voice distorted by the cursed blade's influence. "You will die before you reach our lord."

"Stay out of my way!" The warrior roared as E.I.N. was summoned to aid his master against the vicious twin axes of the corrupted fiend. The encounter wasn't much different from the enemy that fell before when Kreuzgriff pierced through Odor's head.

The final general that stood between Z.W.E.I. and Dumas was Murk, one who wielded twin swords with a disturbing balance of grace and carnage. It was this skilled swordsmanship what made the encounter different from the previous ones. His right knee severely injured, Z.W.E.I. knew he could not risk falling before him by being careless, so he took his time and distance until he found a way to break through Murk's defence and finish him off.

In the mean time, Viola had made her way past Dumas' falling ranks. Seeing a desolated path, she ran forward to catch up with her lover.

It was not the deafening sound of war or dreadful thoughts what made her promptly stop in her tracks. In this landscape of blood and fire, a clear path often means one thing. As cold sweat inexplicably started to veil her skin and a foul taste in her mouth made her swallow with dread, she knew that indeed she fell into a trap and she knew just what kind.

"Here, kitty, kitty!" A gleeful voice stood over everything else in the agony of war. Were this any similar to the music Viola has listened, it was the cold and cutting moment that preceded the Aria. The pale moon turned to look at the woman approaching her, even paler and moving with a playful coquettish air. "So you've come for your puppy! That's so sweet of you!" Passing her tongue over her black lips, she giggled "I'd sure love to keep him for myself were he not to die too!"

"You..." Viola could not finish her own sentence, for new ideas pieced together in her mind from speculation. She had no solid ground nor direct cause and consequence, but she knew. "You made him come here."

"Oh! You're brilliant to top your beauty!" Tira smiled shamelessly. "I shouldn't be surprised. It all came together so beautifully, it almost makes me sad to see you've come to this very moment."

"What do you mean?" Viola said with suspicion as she levitated Quattor Orbis into a defensive stance surrounding her.

"Wouldn't you love to know?" Tira's voice changed into a deep spiteful growl. She stood with her ring blade wielded, ready to attack.

"You're nothing but a waste of time" E.I.N.'s master said coldly as he walked from Murk's lifeless body.

Each step that followed seemed like an eternity to him. For the longest time, he dreamed this as the very moment he lived for; now, at this very moment, as a fate that he could not change even after acquiring a new purpose. Not too differently than his most dreaded nightmare, Dumas' stood in the middle of his courtyard, lonely but imposing.

"The werewolf" Dumas scoffed. "I should have known by your stink."

"I guess you just had to stand in my way." The wolf spoke with hatred seeping out of every inflexion as he shook the blood off Kreuzgriff with a swift motion.

"Same could be said of you. Such a repugnant being." The condescendence of Dumas' voice only added to the promise of an untold might. "But today, I shall finish you off." He laughed, drunk with power, as his body shifted into that of the Azure Knight with the monstrous Soul Edge materializing out of thin air.

Before such a grotesque spectacle, Z.W.E.I. maintained his cool. "Gotta say, I thanked the gods when I heard that Dumas was Nightmare!" E.I.N. materialized from the ether into the battleground. "No one's gonna care if you die! I'm gonna enjoy the hell out of killing you!" Finally the product of years of carnage, merciless vicious carnage would be taxed out.

Both swordsmen charged like tides to clash. Z.W.E.I. leapt and aimed his blade for the Azure Knight's head but was expected and met with a brutal blow from his distorted arm, killing the moment he carried and leaving him open for the onslaught to come, but no differently than chess, his enemy was anticipating this as well and rolled past the slash of his sword as soon as he hit the ground.

Z.W.E.I. could not hope to match the raw power of his rival so instead he would have to rely on strategy and additional power from E.I.N. to break his guard. His agility proved effective in moving out of Nightmare's sight and attacking with Kreuzgriff in creative and unorthodox swordsmanship but it would still prove a long battle.

In the moment when Nightmare felt confident in the close proximity that Z.W.E.I. led him on, he used the strength of his herculean, though corrupted, arm to tear the wolf apart but the opening of his guard was long enough for E.I.N. to make his offence and deliver a series of lightning-fast punches to Nightmare's chest. The armour was taking visible damage as the spirit's fists left dents and craters in his breastplate. This attack left the werewolf confident enough to join in the barrage with his bare fists. The might of the Night Warrior made a testament by chastising Dumas with such quickness, but E.I.N.'s prolonged summoning took its toll as he started feeling dizzy and soon, his head ached uncontrollably. His attacked stopped so suddenly that it took Nightmare a few seconds to realize that his opponent was open now and it was too late when Z.W.E.I. himself realized it.

A blow from the sword's flat end sent him flying away, compensating for the damage he just took. Before his enemy hit the ground, Dumas gathered power from Soul Edge into the claw at the end of his exposed arm to deliver a punch to the ground, strong enough to make the earth shatter, to make the edge of the square break apart into an abyss that would swallow the wolf once and for all.

In spite of a hit that almost knocked him out, Z.W.E.I was quick enough to grab the edge of the battleground, suspending himself from a deadly fall by the strength of his fingers clinging to life by such a puny account. As he heard the footsteps of the monstrous night approaching, undoubtedly to assure his fall, Z.W.E.I. got a tighter grip by both hands and waited for his enemy to be in sight. Seeing his intention to crush his hands with an armoured foot, he waited until the very moment when Nightmare's foot would shatter that portion of the edge to hold on with both arms to the leg and climb himself out of a sure demise.

In this position, clinging to Nightmare's leg, Z.W.E.I. stabbed him in the stomach. It was not a fatal would but it was enough to make for a comeback. The duel carried on with lapses of dominance on both accounts, however, Nightmare soon detected a weak point in his enemy, a recent injury in his right knee that he had managed to conceal for some time; Dumas seized the advantage by unleashing a blow on Z.W.E.I.'s knee, triggering a pained scream, signal of the obtained advantage.

The swordsman summoned E.I.N. to defend but the capabilities of the phantom wolf were matched and overwhelmed by the slashes of Soul Edge. With full offensive, Nightmare grabbed Z.W.E.I. by the throat.

"Bastard." Z.W.E.I. said spitefully with a weakened but unyielding voice.

Angered at his persistence, Nightmare lifted him up and threw him into the air. As the werewolf fell, Dumas lifted his sword with the blade facing the ground. Z.W.E.I's chest fell directly into the hilt of Soul Edge. Nightmare felt the body of his hated enemy going limp suddenly, his fingers and hands twitching from a serious injury, a nervous terminal destroyed and perhaps even his spine. Proudly acknowledging his deed, Nightmare smashed Z.W.E.I.'s body to the ground.

Powerless before him, the werewolf lay for the finishing blow.

"Oliver, it all ends now!" Nightmare roared with the unholy presence of evil distorting his vocal chords. The man that has stood as his most difficult challenge has managed to dodge every touch of the cursed blade, and now his body would be split in half for such shameless and boastful gesture.

Nightmare lifted the sword, ready to execute the man that has, for so long, stood in the way of his ambition.

The blade fell like guillotine and all he could see, in a sudden instant, was light. Blinding light.

Thunder in the distance, a white electric light. Such was the war command for both women to charge ahead and eliminate the adversary.

In spite of her body being reasonably tired, Viola's agility helped her evade every single of Tira's movements, she could even predict them – not by the gift of her power but by resolve and skills accustomed to the art of war. Tira was too focused to toy around and mock Viola as a cat as the Seer clawed relentlessly with one hand while keeping Quattor Orbis in the range she desired to defend or to attack. The fiendful beauty had massively underestimated her opponent for she commanded the duel masterfully and rendered Tira into constant defence from the unpredictability of her attack.

Tira managed to kickoff herself from Viola's approaching, setting distance between the two. With the ring blade spinning around her hand, she stood like a runner about to lunge, preparing for a new tactic. Viola knew she had the upper hand and could hold the tide of the battle at her whim if she were able to predict her opponent's movements. As both charged forward once more, it seemed so amusingly evident to Viola.

Any witness standing in proximity could not help but describe the battle as anything short of a graceful and unbelievably beautiful ballet of blades and death. Each vixen traced curves in the air with their attack and acquired seemingly impossible positions by their dodging. Though they seemed equal, Viola had a vast advantage and the two knew it.

Tira got increasingly aggravated at the ineffectiveness of her style against the pale moon's. Viola used this to her further advantage by mocking death circle's wielder in a manner that no contender ever could. Tricking her into opening her gaurd, Viola ran forward and jumped through the ring blade's hole, followed by Quattor Orbis and dealing a humiliating blow to Tira's head.

All traces of her joyful half were completely gone and her offensive became sloppy. Viola showed no emotion, no satisfaction nor concern. Tira had stood in the way for too long, time has come for her to reap her share of karma.

However, at this point, Tira relinquished the pride of every warrior. As Viola prepared her attack, she whistled for the aid of her loyal companions. An unnaturally large flock of blackbirds disrupted Viola's stance and enveloped her in an abstract mass of black feathers; having lost control of her orb, she was unable to prevent Tira's kick to her mid-section. With this turn of events, the Seer was on the defensive end. Regardless, should she be able to stay calm and observant she would surely be able to overpower the mistress of the ravens.

But something happened that shattered her calm. The sole presence of an ill nature she had sensed before in the sister of Patroklos Alexander. Having thought that the two were together now, she didn't judge further the possibility of the danger expanding further. Now she regrets her carelessness, Viola's sensitivity to this stimuli left her unable to stand against Tira.

"I will not yield!" Viola yelled out in frustration as she defended against Tira. Knowing that the gods have chosen to favour her instead, Tira opted to poke fun at Viola, in her very own way.

Taking advantage of misused momentum on the Oracle's part, Tira rendered Viola in an excruciatingly painful position; laying her own head on the ground while her body stretched like beam of iron, straight and unyielding, and her feet on the back of Viola's head with the ring blade pulling on her face. The blunt side of the ring blade was pressing against Viola's eyes, fitting her like a masque while Tira pressed further with her feet. Viola tried arching her back to hope escaping from the torture, but it resulted in the blunt edge being pressed against her neck, turning the torture into a slow execution.

Viola whimpered in pain and suffocation, her heart aching at the deepest for her failure.

A miracle saved her life in the form of a spear. The vise was undone by Hilde, having intruded to fight against a rival all too familiar to her. Viola felt on the ground, gasping for air and almost fainting; with blurring sight, she saw Lady von Wolfkrone, a much more experienced warrior, fighting against Tira. Though neither could best the other, the Lady of the Blackbirds opted to vanish in a wisp of black smoke.

A peculiar steely sound shattered Dumas' confidence. In one instant, he had the victory in his hands and following a birth of light, his sword was no longer in his hands, but stuck into the ground at his back.

Z.W.E.I. pretended to be open for the finishing blow. While Nightmare prepared to kill him, he gathered all the spirit power he could to summon E.I.N. once more. His plan worked beautifully as Dumas, now disarmed was also completely open for a scourge. Roaring with animal soul, Z.W.E.I. mimicked the clawing of E.I.N. inflicting upon Dumas' breaking armour. Within seconds, the attacks of both worked as a unified force; E.I.N.'s arms were his, their strength, their resolve, two they were no more – but one.

When the barrage itself was over, Dumas' legs, arms and ribs were all broken – kneeling on the very edge of the abyss he created, crippled and powerless to resist against the man who has stood in his way since the beginning of his rise. All he could do was observe, powerless, as driven by vengeance and a drive of redemption, Z.W.E.I. roared lifting his sword upwards while E.I.N., behind him, traced a cross with his claws. A six pointed star – the vengeance for the first family slaughtered by Dumas, a Jewish family driven out from Spain years ago.

Prey of terror for the first time in his existence, Dumas understood finally the nature of his enemy. Oliver was a man, an impotent witness, no different from many others, of the onslaught that shook Europe. On the other hand, Z.W.E.I. is an idea, a lupine avenger that seeks to counterbalance the damage done.

Breathing heavily, Z.W.E.I. stood triumphant before Dumas. Calmly he removed the helmet off the Azure armour and snapped Dumas' neck, killing him and leaving his body to be swallowed by the abyss.

It had been done. Graf Dumas is dead. Blood avenged, sins expiated, the tears of a thousand families, the redeemed memory of a thousand more - his mission has been complete and with it, Viola's safety has been secured.

Aching from his wounds and barely able to breathe at a constant pace from the damage his spine was dealt, his senses were not awake enough to hear the footsteps behind him; the blade, regardless, was not as subtle. Backstabbed, his legs slowly gave way to a soon coming fall to the very abyss that claimed Dumas. As he managed to turn to catch a glimpse of his betrayer, he sees a familiar face.

Pyrrha - Patroklos' sister - eyes shining with unnatural essence, emotionless though not too different from the evil that once pulsated in Dumas' eyes.

The last glimmer of sight he catches before the darkness of the abyss covers him is the sight of Pyrrha Alexandra walking towards Soul Edge while Tira stares at him playfully.

"Given what his mind had so vehemently chosen, it would seem no less than fitting for him to be in this place, in this moment, in this situation. On the many times he's been close to death's taking, he has been outspoken about the major consequence of the life he's led. As his pride would have it, he would have claimed this fate every time to come as no surprise, from rivers away even. But now, in this place, in this moment and situation – each time he would have been mistaken, hence why he inevitably has become prey to the unexpected. Yes, there is fear in his heart, for more than one a reason. In this unnatural vulnerability, the past returns to life."

Being helped by Hilde, Viola makes her way to the Schwarzwind camp. In the silence, her thoughts tortured her with uncertainty; she hears murmurs and cries alike, some in disbelief and others in victory. "Z.W.E.I. has killed Nightmare" they said. He may have succeeded but there is no reason for her to undo her nerves into relief until she sees him with her very own eyes. She wished to voice her concern but her voice would fail her. A violent impulse came over her suddenly, making her discard the subtlety. It was a gut wrenching feeling accompanied by a severe dry heaving, as if she were to force the words out.

Gasping and feeling her throat burn, she struggled to go back where they came from. She screams like nobody could imagine her being capable of. Her words, finally coming into conjure, are lost in the chaos of her sensations. She knew it. It was not a dream, not a nightmare, it never was. How could she allow her unease to stop her from saying the truth? "Has my foolishness cost his life!?" The voice of her mind echoed with that single question.

"Z.W.E.I.! NO! NO!"

Had it been anyone else, the soldiers would have thought her mad. "But the Pale Seer sees things. Don't let her beauty confound you, she is no ordinary lady" They often said.

Siegfried Schtauffen decided to send for a scouting party to retrieve their warrior. Viola insisted to go with them and, though she was met with firm objection by her superiors, they conceded if she were to take at least three more soldiers with her.

The search lasted for little over an hour until the party opted to climb down the ditch created by Nightmare's furious strike. Twenty meters down, they found Dumas' corpse, completely broken and pending in the middle of an enclosure between the two walls. Ten meters deeper, below the bridge that led to the castle courtyard, a surface lay not as product of Nightmare's destruction. Like a wide long hall of stone where the lights of night barely reached. Here lay Z.W.E.I.'s body surrounded by a pool of blood.

Viola froze right in the spot with a sob about to conceive in the depths of her. The seven others did not stay idle and hurried to his side. The tears slowly blocking her sight did not let her see in detail what they were doing; all she knew is that a voice came from afar.

"He still has pulse. The wolf lives! Lady Viola, the wolf lives!"

Her knees surrended to her weight. Her mind could not piece together what she had seen, what she had heard, what she had dreamed and what was now. Fate was, after all, cheated; or perhaps fate does not hold relevance at all. In either case, it matters not. All Viola desired to do was crawl at his side and hold him so she would never go. But that was not the only feeling within.

Even in such a circumstance, her abilities hold tight grasp over her. They were not alone.

In the distance, someone was approaching. Though the blackness of night could smother every colour nearby not lit by the torch, a bright red head made its way closer to them. A few meters afterwards, green eyes stopped before them. With a blink they were dyed red.

"You..." The voice owned by the enigma spoke. It was the voice of a girl; cold and stoic but with a hint of hatred that Viola felt mystified in being able to detect.

As the girl before them slowly raised a long thin steely object, pointing with ghastly presence, Viola could not help herself but gasp in terror.

She did not know who this girl was, her factions obscured in the cloak of night, but she feared her.

To be continued.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Two Grapes

Paralyzed by the sprite before her, Viola felt her weight crumble under her knees. It was the very same image she had seen before in her nocturne visions; dangerously abstract, unlike her dreams about Z.W.E.I.'s demise, the impression they left on her thoughts felt just as terrible. Homer's heroes could not escape the fate dictated by the three Sisters, and tragically, seemed like neither could the Seer and the Wolf.

Instinctively, Viola held her crystal ball close and tightly in her arms. The remaining light of the torches carried by her comrades gave a hint of the girl's appearance as she drew nearer, and soon the glow of Quattor Orbis would unveil the face behind the dread. Cold sweat running down her back and teeth clattering discreetly behind her lips with each approaching step of her foe, Viola knew that she could not allow herself to be defeated by fear, for not only her own safety was at stake, so was Z.W.E.I.'s. He spent a long time protecting her from harm when the two met and stayed always by her side when she was ill, therefore, she could not abdicate the same role in his time of need.

A muffled wounded groaned from him was her sign to stand up and levitate her orb forward to make her defence and hasted the girl's attack. When the light of the crystal sphere finally lighted the young woman's face, the two stood frozen like a pearl before a mirror.

The girl's face was almost identical to Viola's. The resemblance was uncanny about their eyes, mouth and chin; even their hair had a characteristic curl at their end. The two shared similar motifs about their attire as well, differing only in height, build and the colour of their hair and eyes. Even considering the fact that Viola could not remember life before finding herself alone in the midst of a ravaged town several years ago, this seemed nigh impossible for her.

Discarding her own surprise, the girl brandished a rapier of a particularly grotesque design and prepared to lunge forward. Just like Viola had anticipated, the girl was quickly taken by surprise by her orb and her offence was shattered as the Pale Moon ran forward to counterattack. However, despite the advantage she had capitalized, Viola's claw could not touch the red headed girl; what would normally be her blades slashing her opponent's skin was now like fingers swiping nothing but empty air. The girl's skin, now fully visible had an oddity of its own just like Viola's paleness: it was colourless, grey and hinting of death. In that moment, Viola realized that she was fighting against a ghost of sorts. The swords of the cadets proved ineffective and were disarmed quickly.

The panic was now evident as Viola started losing control of the fight. Fortunately as she thought, the girl did not appear to harbour interest in harming Z.W.E.I., so all she could do was resist until she found a way to defeat her 'reflection'; such unnatural circumstance had to have a loose knot for her foe to be unwound into vulnerability.

The girl attacked relentlessly, though Viola proved to be agile enough to get some time. Eventually, the Oracle's patience paid off, as the girl's skin started recovering its colour, becoming tangible and therefore, no longer invulnerable to her foe's attack. However, before Viola could rush in to disarm her, the rapier of the girl accidentally 'stung' Quattor Orbis, provoking a violent buzzing in her head. The girl caught eye of this effect and followed action to recover the advantage. Viola was in pain and distress, hardly being able to defend herself and sinking into what it promised to be her undoing.

Driven by the chaotic momentum of the orb, the point of the rapier met the crystal surface with unexpected force, shattering it and unleashing a stream of light and sound that menaced to blind and deafen the two women. In the chaos that ensued, Viola seemed no longer to be in her own skin and lunged forward like death wrapped in a beautiful dress, violent and graceful. The seer, out of herself, punched and kicked with ferocity, managing to disarm her opponent and used her powers to levitate a shield belonging to one of Schwarzwind's cadets and slide it under the girl's feet, leaving her defeated at last following a harsh fall to the ground.

"Who are you!?" Viola yelled, voice breaking in despair as she pinned the girl. "Your name, say it! Say it now!"

The girl, with her wrists violently secured by the hands of an anxious Seer, hesitated to speak. Her lips trembled as her eyes widened to look at the face of her rival, losing all control and breaking into a painful sobbing. "A-Am..." As she spoke, Viola's mouth mimicked the movement, anticipating the unveiling of her recovered memory. "Amy".

"Amy" Viola said with a string of a voice. Amy, the girl that found her defeat at the hands of Viola was humiliated and astonished by what unfolded before her eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for the Seer's bulk falling on her as her tears found Amy's shoulder.

Once they deemed the menace overcome, the cadets stood back up and called for reinforcements to transport Z.W.E.I. back to Schwarzwind's camp and to accompany the two women, for after this encounter, there was no way the stranger could leave without an explanation.

Two weeks and two days passed.

The candle by the table hardly lit enough of the room to know whether or not they were looking into each other's eyes, but somehow they felt it. Silence reigned to give identity to the feeling shared by the two women, Viola and Amy. Resentment, joy, sorrow, neither could establish dominance over the confusion; not even the Oracle could present a facade of temperance, for though she knew more than Amy did, her own story was too heavy a load to bear.

Amy, now wearing tidier and more modest of an attire, stared at the cup before her. "Am I supposed to believe that you drink this often?" Disgusted by the taste of the wine on her virginal palate, the red headed doll made an effort to soften the words that she presumed would come out of Viola's mouth. "You could smile at the very least. You don't know what I have been true,"

"You may want to try it some more, you may need it, Amy." Viola said as she drank a little more, preparing to tell Amy about their story. Viola began her discourse on the relation between the two in the same manner as she used to tell fortunes, by establishing an aura of charm with the use of a literature quote. "_Honi soit qui mal y pense_, shame be to who thinks evil of it" Viola looked at Amy, thinking this quote to be fitting. The story began by the dispelling of a misconception Amy had believed through her entire life. She knows her parents died from the plague, but the woman she knew as mother was not the one gave birth to her. Their birth mother was a woman who could lift objects with her thoughts and look into those of others, she could mimic the sounds of the birds and paint pictures from thin air with no need for canvas or brushes. Amy's biological father found out about his wife's abilities, and far from being overtaken in wonder, he was horrified by this set of skills that appeared unnatural to him.

Amy's birth mother, Marie was forced to leave her husband and daughter. As the years passed, she found another man, one just like her – pursued by his wielding of inhuman capabilities – one who would father one more child of Marie: a girl, who like the daughter she had years before, was Marie's very image. A little girl, with her nature revealed through her silver hair, pale skin and red eyes, a beautiful little sorceress, Viola.

When Viola turned 12, her parents revealed that she had a sister who hopefully one day she could meet. They painted the picture for her on their ceiling: A girl of red hair and green eyes, beloved by a new father – a man of inhuman paleness and dark demeanour, with eyes flourishing with fatherly love for the treasure of his soul, his daughter, Viola's sister, Amy. Their little moon was so marvelled about this, and was overtaken by the beauty of her sister's dress that Marie and Joseph made her a dress in similar motif, along with the little details that shone along with the joy of their daughter's eyes. However, the joy lasted little, for Marie and Joseph soon were persecuted like witches.

One night, their hiding place was discovered and although Marie and Viola managed to stay hidden, Joseph was the distraction for his two loves to effectively be safe. Although her mother covered the girl's eyes, Viola listened with gruesome detail the torture and execution of her father; in that moment, her powers were triggered, as she could describe every detail of Joseph's ordeal, every sliver of pain, every drop of blood and every inch of his flesh suffering unforgivable crimes. On that day, Marie realized her daughter could not be safe with her, so she crafted the means to limit her power and, in time, when the lock was no longer effective, would simply function as a channelizing mechanism. Thus, Quattor Orbis was made as her companion.

Marie took young Viola to a place where she would be awaited by people she trusted, people who could keep her safe under the guise of gypsies. In a clearing by the woods near a ravaged city, Marie took her daughter's memories away as she whispered to her daughter one last time.

"Hold on to this, my love. It shall protect you."

From that moment on, everything had been but a blur to Viola. As for Amy, her life needed no revealing until an incident several years ago. Amy's father, the man known as Raphael Sorel suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of a young woman with soulless eyes and inhuman grin. Seemingly killed, she extracted something from inside Raphael and fled, not before however, winking at Amy, who had been unable to help her Father. On that night, the Lord of the Shadows – Raphael Sorel, was forced into deep slumber while Amy seemed to fade in matter every time she approached her father's body. What had this woman extracted from her father and what she did with it could only be speculated by the Seer, yet she had no doubt their encounter two weeks ago owed its occurrence to it.

"Wherever I went and felt more than halfway real, I knew my Father would not be." Amy remarked, holding back her tears. "Somehow I felt he was still alive, somehow I know he still is."

Viola stayed silent. For although they shared the nature of an experience regarding the men who supplied them with the love they needed as they grew up, Viola's father would not be awakened from slumber; a violated vessel, a destroyed image cannot be restored, not in flesh, neither in spirit, nor in memory.

Wiping the tears away, Amy snickered. "So, this makes you my little sister, doesn't it? Please laugh."

Viola tried to appear calm, but the weight of the resurfacing of suppressed memories, the encounter and Z.W.E.I.'s condition threatened to crush her. The seer was nowhere as successful as controlling the flow of her tears as her sister was. "I think enough time has passed." Viola said as she grabbed several books from the table.

"What are you going to do? Read to him?" Amy asked. "Do you think that would that help?"

"I don't know" Viola's voice gave in to hopelessness. "His presence was my rock when I strayed in dreams; mine could be his as well."

"I guess I could help, if you get tired." Amy took some books from under Viola's arm as she walked in the infirmary with the Weeping Moon.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Completing the Circle

"The boy is hardly a gentleman, but he is punctual about his letters, I thank." Hildegard von Wolfkrone remarked as she removed the sealing wax from the third in a series of letters written by Patroklos Alexander. Behind the seal of the Alexandra family, the Holy Warrior's words did not defer much from the latest correspondence. "It seems that Pyrrha has not shown further signs of the sword's influence."

"With the exception of the Malfested state of her arm, I suspect." Siegfried added dryly. "The Alexandra siblings did decimate Soul Edge. About these times, I believe the letters are but a mere formality."

"Something is bothering you, my dear. We've won – Soul Edge is no more." Hildegard approached and sat in front of Siegfried. With one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chin, she pulled his face up to her eyes. "Our children are safe. The land will be at peace, but your soul won't. Why is that?"

"Soul Edge was no more before, seventeen years ago, and a long time before as well. The sword has been destroyed but I sense we have only just found the serpent's tail in the hedge." Siegfried smiled sadly at his wife and stood up for the door. "As warriors, soldiers, all of our lives we have been accustomed to expect everyday to bear a devastating blow, and therefore we are likely to look upon every doubt as a foreshadowing of that blow."

"Is this about the girl? Amy Sorel?" Hilde asked, once her husband shut the door.

"I already had a bad feeling before. Now I feel as if a heavy keystone had been dropped on our laps." He turned to look at his wife, lips shining from ale to calm his nerves. "Graf Dumas; he was our enemy and the vessel of our objective, but do you feel he was truly in control?"

"No." The Lady from Wolfkrone's ashes answered as she recalled the unveiling of events from Patroklos' first encounter with his sister to her own confrontation with the woman who brutalized Viola. "He had Soul Edge, but not the loyalty of she who pledged her existence to the Cursed Sword. Soul Edge may have been destroyed, but we did play into her game, eliminating a host she thought unsuitable and opening the way for the one she groomed."

Siegfried remarked in a fashion that only his wife was acquainted with. In that moment, the two of them knew wherein lay the root of the evil. "With the arrival of the Sorel Lady, Viola regaining her memories, the role we've played in this war... Tira, she could not have been aware that Dumas as Soul Edge's host was unsuitable unless she had followed his trajectory from the beginning."

"Nobody knew who Dumas was before he achieved nobility. And what was his first command?" Hilde had acquired the same tone she identified in Siegfried as they pieced together what seemed mere speculation. "The execution of all in the Sorel family... Raphael Sorel had a deep hatred towards his family, to all but one."

"Amy Sorel. She is here now, this cannot be a coincidence." Siegfried waved his fingers through his now long grown beard in reflection. "But that is not all. Our physician identified Dumas' factions as those of Raphael Sorel's."

Hilde blinked in confusion. "That does not make any sense."

"Many things do not make sense, my love. Why does Amy Sorel bear the physique of a teenager when she vastly overcomes her sister's age? Why does Pyrrha's arm remain malfested even after the destruction of the sword? Why am I this drunk from a hardly sweet ale?" Siegfried questioned in his epiphany with a volume that exceeded what his walls could suppress as he cast the tankard behind him. "But above all..."

"Why would Raphael Sorel order the execution of his entire family, when his adopted daughter shares their name?" The Lady of Wolfkrone poured some ale for herself. "That child is all that was left of human in that man's heart. The position of a Graf would have enabled him to provide for her, exceedingly. But instead he opts for this way."

"Yet, we heard Viola's telling. Amy's body ceased to be material in proximity to Raphael when he was attacked by Tira, yet it was also ephemeral when she faced her sister, at least so until she became fully tangible again. There is much we do not yet understand, we cannot go on grasping at shadows until the serpent bites our hand." Siegfried spoke as he sat on his desk. "I need to send a letter."

Hilde stood up to keep Siegfried from stumbling. "You need to sober up, and then write a letter. To whom will you write anyway?"

"To the last of the Valentines, she knows more about this field than any of us. I shall seek audience with her" Siegfried replied.

"Do you think that would be wise? You two have a bloody past together and she wanted Soul Edge finished as much as we did, but she is spiteful; her grudge may rival Sorel's towards the bigger bulk of his family." Hilde spoke.

"I've no other choice, for it is not only her input I seek. She may know the physical aspects of the phenomenon we are on to, but there is someone else that knows more than her about the... esoteric side of it. He has not been openly seen in all these years, and yet I hear that this man sends a hawk her way thrice a year." Schwarzwind's Captain continued. "You know who I speak of."

"Zasalamel!?" Hildegard expressed astonished. "You are a drunk fool, Siegfried Schtauffen! Sorcerers, madmen and now a fool to quell the triad!" The Lady intended to storm out of the Captain's quarters before reaching calm. "I will go with you."

"No. You are second in rank; you must be Schwarzwind's head while I am gone. We agreed on this when we founded it anew." He spoke

"We agreed that we would protect each other when we wed." She retorted.

After a moment's silence, negotiations between the two began. Compromising and settling. In the end, the two agreed that Hildegard von Wolfkrone would remain in the Citadel, functioning as Captain while Siegfried attended audience, if granted, with Isabella Valentine and Zasalamel – he, in turn, would take a party of seven of Wolfkrone's Stone Hounds, the finest swordsmen that survived the onslaught that decimated her Father's Kingdom. An hour later after the epiphany and negotiation, Hilde and Siegfried wrote the letter containing all necessary information and background and sent it for Valentine's House at Prague.

As the night progressed in Siegfried's quarters, so it did in the infirmary where a slumbering wounded man lay with two women reading at his side. One prayed through her reading for him, the other to her father.

"Alas, I lie, rage hath this error bred ;

Love is not dead ;

Love is not dead, but sleepeth

In her unmatchëd mind,

Where she his counsel keepeth,

Till due desert she find.

Therefore from so vile fancy,

To call such wit a franzy,

Who Love can temper thus,

Good Lord, deliver us! "

Viola's voice recited, almost sung as her eyes followed the lines. "Ring Out Your Bells" by Sir Phillip Sidney has become a recent ideal for her practice. Z.W.E.I. always complimented her readings; tonight the mere motion of his chest showing that he was breathing suffices for her.

"Your boyfriend must really like these English poets. Why not read to him something from his homeland?" Amy asked, bored.

"He told me some things about his family, but I don't know much about where he is from. I got some baroque, but I don't think he likes theologists and essayists that dearly." Viola sighed. "I feel tired, my throat is aching."

"No wine for you. I guess it is my turn to pick something to read... I don't like many of these, but you have some plays here – this could be fun." Amy smiled cheekily.

In spite of the overbearing weight of the past days, Viola felt some comfort in sitting by the side of the man she loves while being at the side of a girl that was more than her own person but, to Viola, a symbol of the things she had lost so long ago.

"I suppose, we could try" Viola smiled.

She had never smiled to anyone other than Z.W.E.I. before.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30: One Rainy Morning (Evergreen Part I)

Amy had slept at ease for the latest week's nights, particularly so after Viola had been required to sleep in the Women's Dorm rather than in the Infirmary. With one night's rest in a proper bed, improvement in the Pale Moon's complexion and appetite could be readily seen, as well as a needed return of the silkiness and vigour in her voice. Nevertheless, in spite of the face she was able to keep by the day, her half-sister could sense Viola as she woke up at times, sat on the edge of her bed and grabbed a pillow to muffle her face as she sobbed bitterly; if Amy had indeed woken up to look at the Seer, the figure of a woman powerlessly rendered in fetal position would deny all resemblance to the fierce vixen that had defeated her.

"Why does she cry?" Amy wondered during the last thoughts of a moonless night. "Is she still so shaken about her life's story, or is it because her boyfriend is alive, yet will not wake up?" In spite of how close the two grapes had grown to each other, Amy was still dominated by a natural detachment to any grief but her own. Nevertheless, the slumber of that man was laughably short in comparison to what her father has endured – surely more than a week and a few days. "What is it that kept me going for so long, that she won't take in herself? Someone ought to teach that fool some hope." The girl with the crimson head finalised in her thought.

Shutting her eyes tight as she began to wake up, the blur of a sight from Amy's eyes revealed the room hardly lit by the morning light. Whereas the walls were usually dyed in a honey tint from the sun rising outside, that morning greeted her with darkened grey walls. There was a sound both close and distant that her mind could not completely distinguish; yet as the blur dispelled and her yawning died down, the red headed lady realised that it had been raining heavily.

Across from her, she saw a white bundle that she was quick to recognise as her sister cuddled tight in the bed sheets with her silver mane being the only visible portion of her. It was evident that she had not slept a good night, one more bead in a chain of ill slumbers that inevitably called for helping words. Even if Amy was not too deeply bonded to Viola, she reckoned that she may be the one to be that helping hand; for although Xing Qiao had a better disposition and knowledge of her friend, Amy could better relate to the ordeal. Yet the words she heard about Viola and her personality – a young woman no stranger to the passions of the soul, affection and anger in spite of her cold husk – were becoming more and more evident as she gradually became more defensive.

What reason could Amy have to care for treading carefully on such thin ice? As a soul forged in the fire and blood of Raphael Sorel's crusade, she had no fear of violence; and if Viola had managed to defeat her, she herself could be defeated the next day as well. The most likely reason she could conjure resulted uncomfortable to her: the progressive development of sisterly cherishing. Only after this thought could she finally understand why something as apparently petty as her lover's convalescence had such weight for her. Raphael was no longer human, this man however, is.

His life may be hanging by a thread. Viola knows it, though what good could bring to mention it to her without euphemisms, or at all? The physician continued to do all in her capability to improve his condition. As far as anybody could know, however, he was now lost in Limbo, never to come back but not quite ever to cross over to the other side.

Would it not be merciful on a wanderer lost between our world and that which waits beyond, and on Viola herself, as uncertainty poisons her soul, for this man to be bestowed and gentle and peaceful death? The words surrounding him range from mystery and intrigue to pure admiration, and the deeds attributed to his hands ring loudly on Amy's ears as well, for he, the man they call Z.W.E.I. had singlehandedly defeated the Azure Knight, only to be brought down by a backstabber. Such is the demise she has read in books of old – what more could a warrior desire than dying with honour, leaving this world as a myth, a legend?

Or maybe, she was thinking on the wrong path. Maybe this man clings to life in a quiet duel against the appraiser of souls. Perhaps, the fight he was taxing was no different than Viola's agon, and the only arm the two have to resist with, is hope.

Less than an hour later, the two sat at the dining hall for breakfast. The food was nothing Amy was not already accustomed to; whereas it was nowhere as generously served or tasteful as what she often had under Raphael's protection, it was quite better than what she ate in the streets, hiding from soldiers and the plague, chewing hastily in the dark, away from scrutinising eyes of others in her same condition – for if she was caught with but a morsel, the girl's heart could not deny another unfortunate soul from being given a share of her fleeting fortune.

"Fleeting fortune" Amy muttered, knowing Viola could not listen. She watched her sister make some progress from the previous morning when she barely even touched her food; she was at least eating aggravatingly slowly now, reluctantly chewing on cold eggs and dry bread and swallowing achingly. All the while, her hands subtly shook in idleness and the rain carried on.

Once the breakfast was done with, Viola looked around her to notice that the dining hall was empty with the exception of the two grapes. Amy's expression told that she knew the reason and simply waited for her to ask, and to realise that her thoughts have been lost in the fog for a considerable time. The red headed young woman spoke ahead. "They are waiting in the courtyard. 'Your Captain has been granted audience' is all I hear."

"Captain Siegfried? Why, where is he going?" Viola's voice hinted emotional distance, birthing from a bitter silk of a depth to a higher neutral pitch, not sounding at all like herself.

"I don't know. It must be important if all are outside under the pouring rain to watch his leave" The name of this man rang in Amy's temples. How he, once the host of the Cursed Sword's will, went from wounding her father all those years ago to being now the leader of a small army, which houses her stranded sister. The inner conflict brought upon by tangents in her thoughts painted an annoyed masque on Amy's face. She sighed. "Do you want to go see him?"

"Yes you do." She answered her own question as she stood from the table and headed back to the dormitory. If they were to stand under the rain to see a man she could hardly trust, they may as well wear something warm.

Out in the courtyard, with rows of faces obscured by mist and rain, the two sisters did not have to wait long to see Siegfried Schtauffen on a black war steed making his way with eight riders at his rear to accompany him in what seemed to be a long road. The spectacle was austere, though solemn. The two women were given space in the front row by the cadets, seeing as they were too short to see much from where they stood; the sight became clearer in time to see Hildegard von Wolfkrone, the Captain's wife giving his a loving blessing.

Once the Captain rode, the message was made known, that Hilde would temporarily take over in commanding duties in Siegfried's absence. Following this, the rows dispersed and went into shelter from the rain, all except for a woman turned statue. Viola, refusing to move, simply stood under the rain with her eyes shut, repressing tears. Though unwilling to stay any longer and see her sister catch ill, Amy remained at her side, waiting for a moan, a sob or a word.

"It happened as I had foreseen it." Was all that Viola said; with a cold, almost emotionless voice.

Amy did not say anything back. She fully grasped the message and knew there was nothing she could say. Time froze on that moment at the courtyard; whatever seconds passed felt like hours to them both, whatever hell was conceived to be – a place of flames, pitchforks and mutilation felt like a mockery to the damnation in Viola's heart, as she realised that she was starting to lose all hope.

"By the gods, what are you two doing here?" A male voice exclaimed behind them. "Miss Viola, Miss Amy. You two had better get inside and get changed. Karls will not want to tidy up a wet floor. Regardless, this is important: the physician asked for you urgently. The wolf, he opened his eyes, he spoke. He needs to see you."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31: The Damaged Husk (Evergreen Part II)

The two grapes, born from remarkable blood, made a remarkable impression before anyone who beheld the two beautiful women; the contrast and similarities between the two could never go neglected. However, in the dark domains of the infirmary, none was sufficiently remarkable to outshine the weak light of the candles on the bedside of the wounded Oliver, otherwise known as Z.W.E.I.

Two blue eyes, surrounded by dark circles in dry, exhausted and heavy eyelids. Not blinking in the slightest, fixed on Viola's paleness, perhaps at wonder still about the beauty that had him besotted, perhaps quietly inquiring on the series of events that followed his near death at the hands of Pyrrha Alexandra, and yet perhaps begging for that face of his moon to summon even a weak compromising smile, for with no words prior nor a look under a clearer light, he already knew that she had wept for too long.

He grunted discreetly as he reached out for her to hold his hand. She was hasty in catching his hand before he embarrassed himself in the loss of his strength. "Viola, mi adorada y perfecta Viola... me alegro verte una vez más." He spoke in dragged struggling words with the voice of an old man. Viola signalled him to stay quiet as he seemed to struggle for air to speak further. During this moment, the absent look in his eyes foreshadowed what the approaching physician was about to say.

"He woke up recently, but he comes in and out of it. A delirium, it seems to me; so strong it has him mix his languages. Whatever he said to you, I don't think anyone knows but him." The woman expressed discreetly. "What little I know of Spanish tells me he spoke sweetly to you, would not be surprised if it were the same when he mixes his Bulgarian with his French."

Viola smiled politely at the woman who treated his wounds and looked at him briefly before asking the elemental. "How does the horizon fare to look for him?"

"He lost too much blood. Other than relatively minor injuries, my main concern is how his body reacted to this. He either was supposed to die nigh instantly or hang by a thread for a shorter time than he did before opening his eyes. The sword wound itself appears to heal well, but something is off." The physician paused. "I think there is another sort of damage on him. I don't know how to put it, but my gut tells me his recovery must be aided in a way I cannot supply."

Viola looked inquiringly at the woman.

"He asked to see you. Maybe you have to do with the kind of way he needs to regain his strength." Amy remarked having deduced what the physician implied.

Silence loomed in the room for a moment before Viola found breath to speak. "I have read of it, less than countless but more than scarce. Riddles weaved in the fibres of the flesh, commands of will that turns lead to gold... defy the laws of man, the laws of the Gods... the miracles that plea to occur." She looked insistently on Z.W.E.I.'s stomach, where a vertical darkened line was visible under bandages and rosewater marks, and sentenced. "I will do all I can. What I perhaps could not, I will nevertheless."

Amy sighed in annoyance. "I guess I will help too." The red headed girl was quick to notice how, despite being in as close proximity as her sister, the eyes of the wolf were on Viola and only on Viola. The entirety of his hand seemed pale, with no difference on the joints of his fingers, meaning he way he held her hand was as soft and gentle as silk.

"I would advise against going into this too hastily, however. He is not going anywhere; there is no longer a fight to be fought. Do you hear me, Mister?" The physician smilingly addressed Z.W.E.I. "Take your time, heal well and properly. And you two, I am sure you did not even finish your breakfast. Out with you, and do not return until you have."

Back in the dining hall, the change in Viola was as stark as sun and moon. The brooding air remained, nevertheless changed by what seemed to be a new resolve, or maybe a stinging of hope aroused by a lingering doubt.

"He's a looker." Amy remarked as she toyed with the old silverware. As she had expected, she was met with Viola's eyes and a tint of annoyance. "Even in convalescence, that wolf looks strong, and mighty." Amy turned her head to the window as if lead by a whim of ennui, cool and charmingly indifferent. "Hmm, I wonder what he was like before landing on the infirmary bed. I am sure he was... what's this work I am seeking?" Her sister's silence carried expectation and dread. "Formidable. Yes, that's it." Amy sighed as she continued "Oh, if only my body were to catch up with my years. I could probably snatch him away from you. Just like that". With a smile, Amy caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye.

Viola's expression had frozen in disbelief and angered jealousy; territorial, like a lioness, looking more truthful than tedium and coldness. A snicker from Amy would break the silence and ignite the White Grape.

"What the blazes are you going on about!?" Viola exclaimed.

"If only you knew, little Sister. The rites of the higher classes; so extravagant, so predictable. Those people, their nature which I studied so earnestly back in the day. Amusing, you wouldn't believe it; words have such a power and people play so well into them, and they fall into their trap so easily too." Amy looked amused. "And you played right into it, dear Viola. This man is going to work to regain his strength. He won't let himself wither like you have been. And yet, it took such a petty little act for you to climb out of your husk. Maybe he does love you, but you still won't want to be a frail little leaf to greet him when he recovers. Don't let your guard down and start caring for yourself." Amy's expression had become serious.

Viola's pride had been jabbed; it was evident through her silence and her piercing eyes slating to a side. She knew Amy was right. In spite of the loyalty they wordlessly had to each other, they had only survived for such a long time because of their equality. Z.W.E.I. and Viola, the Wolf and Moon; they were partners, lovers, kindred spirits, friends. All owed to a balance that pain had almost caused to shatter.

In silence, Viola started eating as she avoided look at her sister. Time and effort will be needed for she was sure that this season of healing would likely be followed by a new danger, a threat looming over the horizon. Time may be on their side for only so long, and she must pursue something more than just surviving, for she knows what it means to be evergreen.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32: Autumn

The weeks had passed and with them, the winds had changed into a colder breath. The two grapes had seen a wounded man slowly recover; first struggling to sit on the edge of a bed, then seeing him crawling to reach for old shoes to wear and finally stumbling to make his way across the room of the infirmary. All the while, Viola the Seer had her hands nearby in case he were to fall. He never did, and yet on the times he saw the floor closest to his face, he had nothing but an apology in his eyes. And Viola, she smiled patiently, always discreet and somewhat timid, tireless.

Amy had chosen to familiarize herself with her surroundings, and in the Citadel she found herself allured to the history of the hosts. Only a week passed before she had decided to take up oaths and officially join Schwarzwind; her talents at swordplay and archiving would surely come in handy for the small army, for even if Dumas had been defeated and the Cursed Sword had been erased from existence – as the news had come from a letter from Patroklos Alexander before– Schwarzwind still saw forces at work and menaces that would need their intervention. The redheaded rapier dancer, on her part, had her own agenda herself and this clan of warriors could prove useful; a lack of objections about her outspokenness on the matter comforted and motivated her.

In between physical training and lessons from the master librarian, her eyes sought after her sister to observe her condition. As opposed to weeks earlier, Viola seemed to arouse new strength within and more interestingly, curiosity; perhaps she as well hungered to know the truth behind the phenomena that brought them together in that precise moment in Dumas' dominions. But further so, Amy could gather from their conversations under candlelight and shadow of wine bottle that Viola felt something else was at work, somewhere. The unease was hardly unfounded, for no word or sight has been caught of the she-fiend, Tira; the lack of a hint of her demise was a dangerous uncertainty.

One afternoon during a discussion on digressions from literature, the mood was heated on disagreement over one interpretation against another. The white grape defended a lyrical reading whereas the red grape defended her Pre-Socratic perspective. Their voices were almost lost in the heat of debate, like two rivers sounding alike and yet changing in every flux without ever being able to be frozen into the same momentum. In one strange moment, a third voice joined them.

"It's dangerous to read Heraclitus with sonnet-shaped eyes, Viola" A deep, whimsical voice widened the red eyes of the pale moon. "Then again, I am hardly versed in classics. Hello." Z.W.E.I. was dressed in attire fashioned to the like of a shepherd; certainly given to him in haste from his impatience about staying in bed any time longer. His walk was faster but somewhat hesitating still – too tired and yet too energetic.

"Z.W.E.I." Words escaped Viola for a moment. She thought of reprimanding him for being too hasty about his recovery, but all she had the heart to say was. "We only have two chairs; you won't sit on the grass, will you? Pull my chest from underneath the table."

The wolf smiled as he pulled the chest and sat on him by the table with the two sisters. Viola did not make any effort to conceal an excitement that defeated her preoccupation. Amy seemed mildly amused, thinking that she may have to 'dumb down' her conversation for Z.W.E.I. for she would rather speak as if she were addressing a student rather than change the subject. The crimson headed beauty saw it in his eyes, heard it in his accent, if she let him speak of eastern poetry, she'd have to admit defeat, and she hated losing.

Meanwhile, in Prague...

Light rain commanded the landscape from the sky seen above the walls on the stone barrier til the reaches behind them. Siegfried Schtauffen and Stephen Banner, a drinking and sparring partner born in the English Kingdom who was also part of the men Schwarzwind's Captain had taken with him, stood at the front gate of the Valentine Mansion; their dark, nigh black, capes whispered under God's tears above. Both men were waiting for the same, both knew they were to be signalled in, but only one knew how. Furthermore, Siegfried knew that their host's custom would be indulgent with the time to have them waiting, as opposed to whatever time she'd be willing to give.

"Sir, you brought eight men with you." Stephen spoke.

"Yes, indeed, Stephen" Siegfried replied.

"Your wife had demanded that you take at least that large a party with you. And yet, you've paid for their expenses at an inn's brew cabin. Shouldn't you have had them come with, since we all arrived on the same boat?" The swordsman asked.

"Yes, I should have – that is what my common sense will tell me, but not what my matters say to me." Siegfried's response roused confusion in his partner. "You will see shortly."

A bell rang somewhere within the domains.

"Hmm... this took shorter than I expected. It usually takes at least twice this time." Siegfried's voice carried a hint of amusement.

"This acquaintance of yours... foreshadows me quite the encounter." Stephen said as his Captain opened the iron doors that led them into the front yard and soon, the front door where they'd be greeted by the fabled Isabella Valentine. "There is usually a guardian to open the doors about this kind of place. I take it this Lady is either too avaricious to pay for these luxuries, or she is a loner."

"A loner she is, alright. Even if her life wasn't solely devoted to her cause, she is hardly a trusting person." Siegfried said as they walked through the yard. "Nevertheless, the situation about the Alexander boy must have caused some ripples in her pond. She responded quite quickly to my request."

"You think she may have something to say? Something vital?" Stephen said as he rubbed his long blond beard, finding a few leaves blown by the wind into it.

"Yes. I am sure she has observed what surrounded the new champion." They stood now at the door. "There is now a new dynamic in motion with the surfacing of the Sorel girl... girls. I am sure this is relevant and it may be linked to the struggle between the swords." His hand, now at the golden door knocker forged in the likeness of a Lion, hesitated. "There is something foul in the air, Stephen. I fear it may be worse than what had transpired up to Dumas' defeat." Finally, he knocked.

A few minutes passed before the door was opened.

Before their eyes, a woman stood tall and pride, almost flaunting about her poise. Her skin white as milk on a body as sculptural as a dream of what Aphrodite must have incarnated was wrapped in a dark red dress, luxurious and yet modest in comparison to the legend of Ivy, the last of the Valentines. Her factions were blessed in as flattering likeness, crowned with blue eyes, thick lush red lips and a short mane of silver hair resting on her shoulders. Even a blind man could perceive her beauty in the sole air of her presence.

Stephen knew in that moment why Siegfried had chosen for the rest of their comrades to stay at the inn. For this woman was temptation given flesh and bone, and near to every man desiring of the opposite sex would find it difficult to resist the curiosity, the urge, and the playful imagination. Surely the worst that could happen would be an embarrassment, but he knew his Captain was not up for trifling.

"The autumn wind commands some to decay, and then some to bloom" Her voice purred like that of a panther, teasing and all knowing from her years watching from the shadows. She looked at both men with an air of complicity, whimsical and almost mocking.

"Ivy." Siegfried acknowledged soberly. Although he would be unwilling to call her a friend, there was unmistakable respect in his tone.

"Schtauffen" Valentine's voice ringed with condescendence, but none of the present were a fool. Her eyes mirrored the same respect. "Come in. I do believe we have plenty to talk about."

In the situation at hand, Stephen Banner knew he was no more than a pun in a game of life and death, magnified to that of nations. But as the two men walked in, he felt as if he were invited to behold the heart of the wonders that weaved this world together; such were at stake now, he knew well.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Brewing Tea

Stephen beheld his face distort on the golden surface of the samovar. The strange shapes on the artefact seemed like a fitting allegory to him; for tea was something he was very accustomed to, as much as he was to bloodshed and the smell of scorched humanity and relics, but on this corner of the world, on this corner of time and circumstance, what was once well known is now peculiar and outlandish. Under this mindset, the taste of the beverage could well be affected by the recipient just like his sword, under Schwarzwind, sheds blood in a concealed war.

Likewise, it was quite a strange sight to see Lady Valentine serving tea for guests herself. The mystique surrounding this woman ranged from the air exhaled by her persona, to her customs and even beyond her; every single thing within the mansion whispered her name and the multiple, nigh endless connotations of the word. Stephen Banner was certain, at first glance, that the silence inside that place was never quite silent. If the acoustics weren't betrayed by natural occurrence, it definitely was by the strange gentle wind sliding throughout the polished floors, climbing up the seemingly endless rows of bookcases that surround the magnitude of the vast hall they were at, and reaching at the windows of blue crystal at the unreachable top. This place was alive, even in her solitude.

That evening, however, the place did not seem alive in spite of the presence of guests, but rather looming in forebodingness from the storm rising in intensity outside. The thunder, the lightning, the hail, they all seemed to be the furious contrast to the calm within. Finally, Ivy had taken seat with the two men, taking an instant to smell her tea.

"Wild berries" Siegfried said. "You drink it dark, just like I do." He chuckled.

"It is what I keep for guests. By that, of course, you will understand that it serves no purpose in my storage. Still, I suppose that in light of the..." Ivy stopped for a moment to look at Stephen, her eyes frozen on his for a second. "'Remarkable', shall we say? Nature of affairs, something new and fresh is in order."

"Remarkable would be playing it down, by which we'd have to drink some liquor of sorts. This is a very delicate situation as you may know." Siegfried added.

"Well, aren't you still the cheeky boy I once knew? Of course it is thin ice you walk on, we all walk on now. But this is not the map room, Schtauffen. You sought an audience, and you have it, but the discussion and the thinking in this piece of the world, my piece of the world, is done differently. Now, Sir Banner." Valentine directed her speech at the baffled swordsman. "Do believe this is strange? The kind of war Siegfried Schtauffen has led you into?"

"No, milady. I don't find it strange at all" Banner spoke as if woken by dash of hail in the middle of the forest. "We're at a point when what was once strange is inconsequential."

Ivy smiled. "Good to know you pick your underlings well, Schtauffen." Her tone was cheeky and almost too excited to fit within the calm of her demeanour. "Now, let's talk, shall we?" She directed her eyes towards Schwarzwind's leader. "Your hawk brought me some food of thought, but I don't believe it carried all that was to be said. The sword remains dead, I hope."

"We have no reason to think otherwise. The cursed sword has not been aroused and we have not traced any fragments since the clash. However..." Siegfried stopped to take a sip. "Some odd little pieces have fallen on our lap."

"Yes, those odd little pieces of yours. Do my ears betray me not? The Werewolf was the one to slay Nightmare?" Ivy asked, to which Siegfried showed surprise.

"You've heard of Z.W.E.I.? I wasn't aware that hymns were sung to him already. A little too soon too." Siegfried responded.

A moment of silence ensued before Ivy continued. "I saw him once, years ago. I was in Spain at the time. It is hard to forget a handsome face and a handsome spirit."

"And a handsome wolf?" Siegfried rushed in amusement.

Ivy smiled shamelessly. "At the time, I thought of it only as a symptom of the inevitable. The magical and the spectre to become more frequent among us. His purpose in that moment did not seem all too relevant for me to care. Aiding the escape of a few dozens of Jews hardly seems business concerning with the Swords."

"By mere curiosity, how do you figure he had no business with the Swords?" Her former associate asked.

"Sturm und Drang, that's how. Some passions cannot be concealed. If I am not mistaken, all he had been doing was aiding others, mending lost causes, fighting for the tongueless. Is that correct?" Ivy asked.

"Yes. That's how he came to be one of us, we found him under fire by Dumas' assassins. He was protecting a girl." One more sip. "Our other odd little piece: Her name is Viola."

Ivy rubbed her eyebrow for a moment in deep thought. "A girl with the power to see beyond the days to come, to move objects without bothering to use her hands... Your hawk's letter spoke of her temporary inability to remember her past. That kind of magic is frequently spoken of among the versed, but never actually executed."

"You sound sceptic, Ivy." Siegfried noticed a change in her tone of voice.

"If what you say is true, she is one of the mythical missing links in the practice of the occult. It is simply strange for her to be connected with this situation" She said.

"The last time I saw you was over 15 years ago, and yet you have not aged a day. I don't think we can apply the word 'strange' anymore." Siegfried continued. "But don't mind that. The oddest piece that has fallen in our lap is her sister, someone you know."

"Amy Sorel." Ivy spoke, after which she looked behind her into the distance of the great hall, her eyes hovering over one of the magnificently sized bookcases. "And what befell that poor little girl."

"That is what we must discuss." Siegfried spoke with a humourless tone.

"Indeed." She screwed her eyes. "What you described is yet another phenomenon spoken of between the scholars of the occult, but otherwise rather unsung. The most plausible theory is the one I wrote in a volume on the characteristics of the Spiritual Realm." At that moment, a hint of frustration was evident. "It has happened before, but ruled out as mere coincidence; the partial disappearing of a person only to appear anew time afterward untouched by the passing of days. It is still too rare, I am afraid." She looked at Siegfried. "You say Amy looks still as if not a day had passed. The seer you mentioned, was confronted by Amy and from the resulting fray, Amy was 'whole' once more." She paused. "This gives validity to my theory. You said she didn't know what had happened to her, but all she had was instinctive knowledge. Amy was searching and in her search, found without her knowledge her sister. This must have undone the corruption surrounding her essence, by one or another reason, but then..."

Siegfried reciprocated the expression of terrible realization. Before saying a word, he turned to Stephen and nodded, by which he was returned with an expression of pained complicity. "We looked at Dumas' corpse after his defeat. His face was that of Raphael Sorel."

Ivy's eyes grew wide in disbelief. "That... cannot be. Then, Amy had been searching for her father all that time. A shadow in chase of something beyond her reach in too many senses." Isabella Valentine's face changed in that moment; she looked as if she would had she chosen one day to become a mother. "Poor, poor girl."

Silence followed.

"Nonetheless, there is something that does not fit into this. I have been right about the binding of a soul to the spirit realm; if truly so, then Dumas, the man killed by the Werewolf could not have been Raphael Sorel" Ivy spoke.

"It is plausible, though. No sight or word has been caught of him since Dumas rose to power." Siegfried said, knowing there had to be something else to consider, something unknown to him and only hinted by speculations.

"It does not matter. If I was right about the severing, I am right about this. Amy's life had not been ended, but rather bound to the Spiritual Realm, therefore 'being' only in sight in our world, but in substance in another. The bond to keep both existing is delicate but unbreakable should the object of emotional attachment be still alive." Ivy said, carried away by a stream of understanding.

"Living like a ghost." Siegfried added.

"Exactly. Whoever did this to her must have been aware of Raphael and Dumas. Dumas was bound to fall, one way or another. Had he been the object of the attachment, Amy would have died in the same instant he met his demise. This means that Raphael Sorel is still alive. But something, there is still something amiss." Valentine spoke pensive.

"I think I know what that is." Siegfried said as he stood from his chair and looked around him. "This is a beautiful place you live in, very much captures the mystical ambience of Prague. Yet, with a foreword apology if I am being too bold, somewhat austere in comparison to the late Count Valentine's mansion in England. What happened to that place?" Siegfried asked rhetorically.

"It burned to ashes." Ivy responded as if an old hatred had been revived.

"Tell me, Lady Isabella Valentine." His eyes fixed on hers. "This is an impressive library you have in here. How do you keep track of all the content you own? I imagine it is awful difficult to inventory the whole of it. Has a book ever gone missing?"

Ivy's lips froze in an expression of charmed revelation. She squinted, trying to suppress a smile.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34: Red Dusk

"How much do you believe was truly lost to the flames?" Siegfried asked as the Lady climbed up a spiral stairwell hidden behind a bookcase while the Schwarzwind Leader and his swordsman waited below.

"The majority of what I had, no doubt. And for the better I would dare say." Isabella Valentine browsed through a large thick volume containing the bibliographical information of all she had ever owned. The pauses between her words hinted at the detail spent in finding the needed piece to fill the gap. "Too much of what I had could be considered 'dangerous' and I felt relief in this information being destroyed, but yes indeed, I see it now. Some volumes have been... compromised."

"The thief's identity should not be a mystery." Siegfried said. "There is only one who would seek information of this 'field', for any other purpose than destroying it."

"The girl still lives?" The indignation was felt in every syllable coming from her mouth. Siegfried could only imagine her expression, the hatred in her eyes not towards the vixen known as Tira, but towards herself.

"Yes. By the looks of it, we all played into her scheme. Dumas, once the wielder of Soul Edge was annihilated because she gave us a little push, and in doing so, we paved the way for her new host to take the sword." Siegfried explained, as he tasted the last spice of the tea in the back of his throat. "Patroklos Alexander succeeded in undoing this scheme, but the surfacing of Amy Sorel..."

"Yes. It is a symptom of a greater evil." Ivy descended from her hidden archive. "I will research tirelessly to find what was truly done to the remainders of the Sorel family. But I am convinced that the affair is meaningless now. The girl must have been at the Valentine Residence on the day of the fire, she had come to seek information and she acquired it." The burden of responsibility weighed heavily on the woman's gaze. "Whatever she acquired, she will use to suit the Cursed Sword's desire. Using Amy and Raphael is only a means for the purpose, and it has been outlived now." She approached steadily and stern towards Siegfried. "This matter is done, Schtauffen. I need you to swear on your life, that of your wife and your children, that you will devote all you have to preventing the fruition of her next scheme."

"I promise, Ivy." He said as he approached the survivor of the Valentines. His eyes harboured something reflected in hers: an affection and a love, both devoid of all carnal desire but nurtured by mutual respect, which could only be created from a shared passion, one desire, the will rid the world of its greatest evil. "You will look into what happened to the Sorels, will you not? In spite of our need to stay vigilant, you will figure out the truth behind this 'meaningless affair', will you not?"

Ivy did not respond, fearing that the acknowledgement of concern towards the Sorel Maiden would hinder her purpose.

As the men made their way out, Siegfried stopped and turned back. "Ivy. How bad can it get? If Tira indeed has stolen a portion of what you possessed, will there be a way to stop her?"

"There is no occult knowledge or magic that is without a flaw. Very much like you or I, every method, spell, procedure... each has an antithesis. She must never win, she will not win." Such were the last words Siegfried Schtauffen heard from the mouth of Isabella Valentine after years of silence; whatever to be said in the future would be bound to messages carried by hawks, for time had come, a new mission. Vigilance.

Meanwhile, in the Citadel, night has started its gradual entrance. Amy had felt rather light headed from the wine, so she had gone off to her room to stop the world from spinning; her sister knew well that it was nothing but a pretty lie to give privacy to the Pale Moon and the Wolf. Z.W.E.I. was still not at optimal condition, so he grew tired and his eyelids felt heavy. In Viola's garden, the sun of another day was setting.

The chairs were discarded and the only furnishing that mattered to the two in that moment was the grass. Z.W.E.I.'s head rested on her lap, with his hair brushed mildly by the evening wind. Viola was pensive, translating her mood into physical gestures by tenderly caressing his left eyebrow while her fingers toyed gently with unruly strands of her. Her throat ached.

"I hate you." She said to a sleeping, tamed by love beast. "All I knew was the craft and the run. I knew it well, and it was easy, for there was not a thing, not a hue or colour behind the words and the steps. Hunger, thirst, music... nothing mattered. The day gave rise to the night and the night died for the sake of a new day, and that was all the truth I knew, all the truth I needed." Her eyes lost in the descent of the sun, her voice sounded cold. "In my pursuers' passion, I found my calm, for nothing mattered, nobody mattered."

"And then you happened." Viola looked down to her lap.

"You have a bad habit of going easy. You had my gratitude then, for giving me a chance to live another day in a world of no tide and no wind. But you had to be tender." Had she a mirror, she would hardly recognise herself in a speech hailing to the woman she was once. "Kindred spirits, you and I. Where I was rose, you were saffron, where you were dark, I was light. If you could only understand, Z.W.E.I. that I found no beauty in contrasts outside of the oils, the paintings, the wines and meats; and soon, you and I outshined it all."

Contrast, such she saw in a peaceful sleeping warrior, once bathed in the fire of battle and the instinct of protection.

"You taught me to care, you taught me to fear. And what, I wonder, did I teach you? Did I teach you a thing at all? Or are you simply a dumb child, a slow learner?" Had she been a different person, a sentimental woman from Venice, or a Russian adolescent, her face would be spoiled by tears. "You did not learn a thing, and because of it, you raged into battle and got yourself hurt." Viola hesitated. "Did you stop to think what would have happened if you died? The damage you would have done to me? Can't you see I am beyond repair now?"

She wished for him to be awake.

"How could you have done this to me?" She paused. "Not even once, Z.W.E.I. not even once."

He opened his eyes. Viola stared at him, completely empty from the nature she had believed to be the dominant one in her. The tenderness that he gave, she knew how to reciprocate, and it felt natural to her, moreso than the craft she had practiced. The fire of war that she plunged herself into for his sake was so because he had done the same. The pain in Viola's heart was a wave of overwhelming awareness, of a force meeting its antithesis, but also its synthesis; awareness, balance.

"We do our best, yeah?" Half asleep, he said. "Always"

Viola knew from the math in her head that they would either live together or die together. The realization menaced to break her from volatile chemistry, and all she could bring herself to do was to kiss his forehead and wait for sleep to find her soon as night falls.

Red dusk, like wine, like blood, becomes dark, becomes black. In the darkness, the rot, the rust and the rattling of bones, a heart shook like a spark from the silence.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35: November Rain (First Movement)

The streets of Paris, the ports of Kyiv, alleys in Budapest, waterways in Venice and even the London clutter; all knew that fabled rite when the sky turns silver and the dew of the morning is remembered once more through the afternoon and all the path towards night. Both companions of the night harbour different memories about November rains. Z.W.E.I. thinks upon them as the stage for some of the most heated confrontations, the game of hide, seek and strike back, the blood on the inner side of his cheek as his wounds are treated hastily in the darkness of tavern that has closed in order not to arouse suspicion from pursuers. Viola, on the other hand, remembers these evenings as the season when the faithless believe.

The zealous with guilty thoughts, the pristine and the respected, all the unlikely; those were the ones who would come to her as the year reached its twilight to listen to her as she looked into their past and future. To her it seemed then that these people had chosen such a time to bring what little magic they could into their lives, and much to the petty wounds on their pride, the Seer was the only vehicle to that end. But if there was any magic at work, it did not come through these temporary customers, but through the children.

"Miss! Miss! I wish to know if Mama will ever come back." One little boy told her in one occasion. "But I don't have much to pay with..." Viola stared at the boy, easily concealing a slight tint of compassion. Though the outcome she saw would have the Mother of the child seeing him next within no less than four years, all she said to him were words too distant from her usual riddles.

"You will see her again. In between now and that day, you'll do good for yourself in learning to be patient" The pale moon said as she ate a piece of the cheese wheel the boy stole as payment for her services; the child seemed to like the cheese as well, so much that he ate more than her. Magic, she thought, had found her that day as well, even if briefly.

Two years had been ever since. The thought of the boy accompanies her as a hasty passenger on the birthing of the dusk into night when the silver light in the sky is gradually smothered by blackening clouds. Through a lone window in the library, she observes the courtyard and the rain. On her skin, she still feels a crumpled bit on her blouse, a spot on her hip where his hand rested a while ago. Behind her, between bookcases and candlelight, her sister goes through the inventory. Viola was sure she was deliberately taking her time, waiting for the sky to get dark; Amy needed the dark, for that night, she was to teach her sister how to fence.

Outside by the gate, Z.W.E.I. waited with no keenness for patience. Supplies were to arrive soon, and were to have arrived soon for that matter, and he wondered how much blame in the delay could be unleashed on the rain. His back, against the wall, ached from training; Viola had been very patient in trying to teach him to be more flexible, as she believed it would be easier for him now since he had lost some weight from his idle time following the advance on Dumas' dominion, but the stiffness of his frame seemed to persist after a long recovery. Thus, it would still take long before he could notice any changes in his movement capabilities, but it took considerably less to feel the process.

He closed his eyes in weariness and tedium, and thought momentarily of moving a bit towards the gardens so as to feel the rain on him. A heightened sense of hearing like his could hear enough, from the complicity in the murmurings of who passes beyond the distance at the grasp of the eye, to the groaning of the iron and wood gate, and the falling of each drop from the early dawning November rains. In spite of the guile of his senses, the knocking on the door took him by surprise. It was the towering hooded figure of Alan, the flailmaster who the wolf saw through a nigh invisible crack on the door.

"Hey you. What's the word, Alan? " Z.W.E.I. asked.

"Supplies are coming shortly, so is the Captain and his party; but they will be arriving at nightfall. Let Lady Wolfkrone know."

"Do you think she will want to greet him back with a feast?"

"A blow and a kick would be more likely" Alan snickered. "But she might indeed want a generous dinner, or something of the sort. Nothing too fancy; she is not all that fond of excesses."

"Ale, wines, meat?" Z.W.E.I. smiled in amusement. "Pork and sausages, you'd think?"

"Any and all, I bet that lovely lady of yours would dictate further than Lady Wolfkrone." Alan winked.

"You cunt." Z.W.E.I. unveiled a mixture of humour and defensiveness about Alan's approach before yielding. "Yeah, she would, though."

"Go and tell them, will you?" As soon as Z.W.E.I. made his way to the main halls, Alan continued. "We're happy you guys joined us, by the way. If we are not drinking to Siegfried's return, I at least will drink to you two."

The wolf nodded quickly to hide a peculiar speechlessness. In that moment, it all seemed so unlike everything he has experienced before. Memories too insignificant to him, hardly meaningful enough to be caught by Viola's magic, would take him back to the love of a teenager, a sailor's wooing as a remedy for loneliness, a marriage that never came to be for illness had a say in the matter; each and all were only him and someone else, and now – for the first time – it was another unity, one in which a half could not be so without the other. A pang of shame stung him for an instant in not being the first to realise it.

And just as Alan predicted, Viola had a greater input about the plan at hand for the later evening. Hildegard von Wolfkrone's role at the moment was confirmed as simply having acknowledged Alan's message through Z.W.E.I. Amy, having made a presence in the room, expected a greater enthusiasm about what seemed to her a special occasion; and she made no effort to conceal her disappointment when the evening would promise to be little more than what she had seen so far in the Citadel, for even if she would not admit it herself, she felt nostalgic about a life she once knew.

Viola was never oblivious to the reactions and expressions of those around her – a habit she once scorned – thus, noticed the effort on her sister's part to leave the room without being noticed. She kept mind to seek her and pry, if needed, on a humble compromising that seemed unlike a girl as proud and unyielding as Amy. It had occurred only then to the Pale Moon that Amy had a bitter story to tell; one in which, not yet to Viola's comprehension, the pomp and the ornament held a greater significance now that a vital piece was missing in her life.

No sunset greeted the land as the rain prevailed into the dusk. Z.W.E.I. had met the delivery of food and goods little over an hour later, and thought it fitting to stay at the gate for a little longer as darkness of night loomed at a slow pace, turning the grass into a darker hue. He anticipated the arrival of Captain Schtauffen; him meeting them at the entrance, as the welcoming party would be a gesture of gratitude dearly delivered.

Two hours went by.

An open gate and the rage of screaming and panic gathered into a funnelling clamour the entrance of the Citadel. A quarter of the manpower had been gathered in the name of peace and sanity, and more would come if Siegfried's words continued unheard.

It had taken him by surprise. If there was a smell, it eluded him shamefully.

No matter that he was being held back by almost a dozen men using the lot of their strength to prevent a catastrophe from occurring. No matter that Amy was at the side of Siegfried's party, behaving in a manner that seemed too unlikely to be insincere. No matter Viola was pulling at him and talking loudly into his ear, desperately seeking to bring about calm in him.

No matter he seemed so changed, so unlike the last time.

The rain never stopped. It saw the decay of the afternoon, from warmth into violence. This witness speaking through thunder and water beholds and tells of serenity crossing into a blind rage. Contorted and roaring, menacing, the beast sought to break free, for his enemy stood still before him – brought with the arrival of Siegfried.

He had killed him.

Yet he was before him still. Thickly bearded and wounded about his face; eyes hidden under the shadow a wide brimmed hat.

Dumas.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36: November Rain (Second Movement)

"Anagnorisis is what all characters live for" Viola would say so every time she reached the end of a written story, be it tale or play. Z.W.E.I. found it odd for such words to reach his thought at that moment when, restrained by so many in prevention of his sudden anger dying the evening red, his mind would place attention on anything other than pure unadultered hatred. As the rain grew violent with every instant, Viola's wisdom acquired sense in regard to the situation, for it seemed the wolf had before him not a living being, rather a character in a tragedy, a perfect foil that refuses to die.

"In the clear mind concealed in madness, is this what the world becomes? Damage and deception, vile deeds to go unpunished; was the sacrifice all for naught?" The voice in his head, drunken in poetry conceived only in the zenith of rage and grief, echoed throughout the extension of his core and limbs. His strength defeated, one inch at a time, finally had his back against the wet grass and weeds. All he could see was the black sky and the stars dripping on his sight, and he could not hear a thing over his wild roar. Under command of his rage, he was not aware that Viola was there, beholding horrified how his anger grew to despair. She asked to be let in close to him, but the Schwarzwind cadets did not allow her for safety and precaution.

An hour later, he sat silently in a room, with a cup of tea before him going cold. Candles lit his haggard face and traced lines that emerged only when distressed or furious. In the moment of his blood running calmer, he felt no anger but rather an anxious confusion to see light upon the corners of a reason he could not yet understand. Voices were coming and going from behind the door nearby, a small bedroom that was once used by the librarian's assistant – a boy taken by the consumption. Z.W.E.I. made little effort to approach the door and listen in on the conversation that had been going for an hour or so. Viola was asked by Siegfried and Stephen to join them in the room with the dreadfully familiar-faced man who had arrived earlier. Something she needed to know, apparently. If such was the case, he would trust her and be patient.

After the minutes had grown to seem like hours, the door creaked open and only darkness could be seen inside when he turned in anticipation. Footsteps sounded almost imperceptibly; Viola slowly appeared to the reach of the light with a troubled face and eyes that fell into indecisiveness –something quite unlike her. Swinging between the wolf's blue eyes and the darkness behind her, she stood quiet in place for a few moments before sighing and taking seat next to Z.W.E.I.

"What happened?" He asked.

"He is not Dumas" Viola forced a smile. "Of that we are all sure. You should be too."

"I see. I did not smell the like of him earlier. I guess that counts for something." He said with a hint of a doubt lingering in his voice. Viola could have interpreted it as a tint of shame. "Then who is he?"

Viola bit the inside of her mouth in silence as she herself digested the new information. "He is Amy's father"

Z.W.E.I. himself sat in silence as his thoughts raced to connect one with another. "She sought him, and now he has found her. They are together anew. It is a good thing, is it not?"

"Yes." She said dryly.

"Then why do we feel this heaviness in the air?" He asked.

"Don't you see it?" She remarked with frustration in her voice. "This can't possibly escape you, what this means. You oversaw this for such a long time, you must know where the cogs click the wrong way."

"I could not think straight earlier. I suppose I can't right now, either." He responded weary.

Viola turned quickly to look at him, gripping tightly the folds of her trousers. "Please. Piece it together, and tell me where the cog is clicking wrong." She bit her lip impatiently. "Please!"

The wolf leaned back on the chair and scratched his head angrily, sighing and shutting his eyes tightly. With a wheeze, he lurched forward with elbows on his knees and looked at the red orbs on the moon. "Unless they are related, either Dumas or Amy's dad is not meant to be,"

Viola nodded without taking her exasperated look from him. "Good."

"What did you learn in there?" He asked.

Viola stood and softened her glare, but her eyes were not sweet to him yet. "Go to sleep. We will talk tomorrow" Thus she turned for the hallway leading to the women's dormitory and disappeared into the darkness. Before following suit to her words, she remained in his seat for a few minutes. The voices still came and went from one muffled corner of the room nearby to the other. The night was over for him, as for Viola, but not quite for Siegfried and the recently come stranger. As for Amy, the stars had risen and may never again fade from the sky.

The following day, Z.W.E.I. did not see Viola at the dining room, or at her garden. His first guess leaned to her being in company of Amy and her father. Her coldness from the previous night was nothing particularly new to him, thus he knew he had little choice but to give her space. Whether wine and meat would ease her mood, he did not know, for something else had seemed out of place; and only during early training on that day, he properly thought of it. He still did not know much else about the affair at hand, but Viola most certainly did, and all she knew, she understood. Comprehension must have signified a considerable weight for the pale-skin female Prometheus; a new angle in a war that may not yet be over.

The restlessness from her silence and a pressing urge to know the nature of the situation made time pass all too slow for the wolf. At nightfall, he passed by the hallway in front of the dormitory with attentive eyes, but no hint of a silver head was at grasp, yet before his sight was met by the wall, two big red eyes faced him suddenly as she came down the stairs. Her expression was not a hostile one, but not quite the gentler nature she developed towards him.

"Z.W.E.I." She called with a weary voice.

"What happened about Amy's dad?" He asked in haste.

"Not here. Meet me in the library." Those were all the words she said before leaving as quietly as she found him.

Viola opened the door of the library half an hour later. The candle shed a strange light on the man with untidy shirt and slacks, carrying two lightly steaming cups. He had brought tea; her keen nose for the brewing said jasmine.

"Come. Put those on the table. Help me put this in place." Viola said as she pointed towards a dark bulk by a chest. Z.W.E.I. complied silently as he carried the weight of something long and thick.

"Why is a mattress in here?" He asked.

"Because this is where I will be sleeping for some days to come." She answered just as waning as moments before.

"I take it this has to do with what you learned."

"Yes." Nodding with a slightly warmer air, her lips kissed the surface of the beverage to get acquainted with the taste and the smell. "I have a lot of work to do."

She removed her shoes and rubbed her stomach with a tedious, though careless motion. The poor lighting of the solitary candle was enough to show how truly exhausted she was. Her attire was no tidier than his own, and it seemed as if it had been on her skin for the entirety of the day. Had a second candle joined the environment, he may have been able to see a shade under her eyes. She had not slept since last night.

"Don't" Z.W.E.I. said quickly, rushing to remove her shoes. For all he knew, she was about to crumble asleep before undoing the laces.

Viola dragged herself once she was barefoot over to the mattress squished between a book case and the table, and fell comfortably on her resting spot. Z.W.E.I. took the cup and placed it close to her reach, while he drank some himself. The fragrance was not unfamiliar in any other instance, but the surrounding walls and oaken rows of bookshelves imprinted a sense of antiquity on everything within the room, the tea, the candle, and their very own selves. It seemed to him as if his senses had grown dull and imperceptive; indeed, there was something he had failed to sense until that moment. He felt foolish.

"Lay down with me." She said quietly.

The mattress was not too wide, but it had enough room for him. His hands readily found a place around her waist, and his head was lit by the night lights peeking in from the window. Thoughts of shame arose like steam from the cracks in his mind, wounded by the blindness of his rage. As if Viola's weariness had found solace in his body as well, the world around him seemed to blur.

"There's a flood coming. I will need your strength, your senses fresh and... keen" She said, half asleep. "A flood... Z.W.E.I." A moment of silence and nothing could be heard over a greater voice. Nothing, not even the breathing moon in the birth of her slumber. The angle of the room seemed unreal to him. The corner of his sight drifted to the window. He hadn't realized that it rained still; it had rained back then when she seemed to have died, just before Schwarzwind rescued them from Dumas' assassins.

They would talk tomorrow. The world cannot make sense on that night.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37: November Rain (Third Movement)

"I can tell by your face that you will not sleep tonight until we fully understand what is going on" Z.W.E.I. said to Viola, aware that her eyes could say the same to him. Three days of unrelenting rain have baptised a sliver of unease into a looming menace, ghostly and mysterious even to the Seer; what little was known from what beckoned in shadows and suggestion would surely demonstrate that the grooming of Pyrrha as the cursed sword's champion could well be merely the simplest and most immediate way to bring Soul Edge into full power. Raphael Sorel's sudden appearance brought joy beyond all measure for Amy, and a possible clue for Schwarzwind on the next unholy scheme. Viola was silent.

"I cannot think on a empty stomach, and neither can you." The wolf stood from one of the desks at the citadel's library. "I won't take long. I have marked these few passages here. You may wanna check them out when you're done with that heap".

A groan of tedium escaped her throat when the door was closed behind him. She was frustrated and tense, for she knew not the precise detail of what she hoped to find, or how much time she had to make a breakthrough. Her eyes and temples ached with the pulse of every thought, particularly when the image of her sister came to mind, which was now inevitable for all at hand surrounded the resurgence of Raphael Sorel, and by extension, his daughter. Amy should have been the one to whom this task called; why then, Captain Schtauffen gave this task to the silver moon of a woman? Surely, the girl with the red head was given another duty, quite possibly as much of a taunting dead end as what Viola had on her lap, but it yielded no rest or satisfaction. Exhaustive research into uncertainty had become limbo to her.

What minutes he was out for food seemed like hours to Viola, during which she went over the last year as if it were a story. A lonesome night in alleys and shadows, just like any other, dropped a tide of a fate before her and she could not escape; days then went by, and she thought that she could have escaped but wouldn't have. She knew that two worlds were richened from two like-weaved souls, purposes and missions had been taken and death was mocked every now and then, but nowhere as close as the night she was poisoned, or as the night of the assault on Dumas' castle. And, while they knew fire, two merciless eyes observed.

Tira. The name felt toxic to the tongue.

It then dawned on her, with a brief silent gasp that she must still be at the centre of all. Then, like she often used to do in her privacy as she observed the futility of what she heard and saw, she chuckled almost colourlessly. It was a breakthrough, albeit a rather superficial one, if it truly was a revelation. For all anyone could know, Siegfried had already come to that conclusion. Tira's plan to sponsor a new host for the sword had failed, but she lived on – Viola knew, for a stench of her soul stuck with the Seer like a latent symbiosis. Tira survived a day when only Death breathed deep, but she would not surrender.

Within an instant, Viola realised that she was not alone in the library on that morning. There were two others in the room with her, captivated in a world of their own and going about their own affairs: an eagle and a titan. Prometheus chained to a rock, punished by his hubris against Zeus, the titan's side devoured by a bird of prey day after day. It was this son of a God who brought the flame of the intellect to the reach of man, thus earning his punishment. What was a moment of stray curiosity became a fixation of red eyes prying into the shadows of the painting, one of which cast complete darkness on the titan's face. Anybody could observe his suffering in the muscle contractions, and the lively colouring around the wound; the flesh, the image made thought was enough to tell of the suffering, but that was not where her mind wandered. She cared not for the open wound on his side, but the expression hidden in the shadow. The face looked away from the spectator, as if contorted by the pain of his flesh; yet Viola stared deeper, trying to catch a glimpse of light.

What could he have been thinking in that moment? Was he repentant on his deed? Could the pain and torment taunt him on every instant of consciousness? Regret, perhaps? Was it worth it, Prometheus? Is the use these talking monkeys are to give the flame of intellect worth the eternity you are facing? Repentance?

Viola pried further, nigh obsessively during the moment Z.W.E.I. was absent, secure that he would not see her face shifting. Had she a mirror, she would have seen Tira's grinning, and would have gasped in terror in a cold realisation. But a point of madness removed a blindfold from the pale seer's eyes, for she had seen the vixen in the painting, encased in the frame of a titan. It mattered not the horror traced unseen in Prometheus' face, for he could have smiled in satisfaction at what the man below could do with the gift taken from the gods by one of their own nature. The grandiose, the monstrous, all beyond the far sight of the gods.

Tira had the flame, given to her by the sword. But she was the titan herself as well, for the true yielding of the cursed sword would not be hers to wield. She had been experimenting, and the grooming of Pyrrha as Soul Edge's champion was only one of her experiments, one that followed Dumas. The pieces that fell on her lap completed gradually the landscape of her comprehension; it would only take an outside source to confirm what she had pieced together.

Dumas was Tira's experiment, one that had gone rogue and ultimately useless for the will of the sword. The method by which the wolf's nemesis came to be was still unclear to Viola, but if what she had heard below the ground in Spain and Portugal, during the years of her honing as a fortune teller proved with merit, Dumas was a homunculus created from Raphael Sorel's body, made possible by the presence of a familiar essence – the influence of Soul Edge.

Amy's father, his slumber was a necessary part of the process to create a mind to fit the flesh created unnaturally. Siegfried Schtauffen had informed her on previous nights what had happened in Prague with Isabella Valentine, the affairs of their discussion, and what this meant. A hawk was to be received on the updated inventory in the Valentine Mansion's library. If the proper volumes were the difference between what the woman owned and what was lost, then a clearer image would be theirs to examine. Before Viola was able to catch her breath, she realised that Z.W.E.I. had long returned and been sitting to listen her patiently, her epiphany on their enemy's possible state. He did not ask her to repeat herself, but merely made one question.

"So... If you are right about this, Tira created Dumas. This was her most immediate plan, correct? But it went awry, so she resorted to something she had invested more time it, as a safer option. She was counting on us to take him out, so she could give the sword to her apprentice. Now that has failed too. What do you think she will do next? She can't afford to waste more time to influence another kid. She has to move fast now that she knows we're on her track."

"She won't use Amy." Viola said quickly.

"How do you know?" He asked.

"I don't think she is desperate. Tira disappeared after you killed Dumas... after Pyrrha almost killed you." Her eyes placed subtle culpability on Z.W.E.I. "Whatever she is planning, she must take her time and observe from shadows, from the distance."

"Have you seen any black birds around?" His voice was almost mocking at the image.

"No, but she knows we are not moving too violently, there is no reason for us to. She knows we await for her to show her blood runs still" Viola put up a disgusted face and washed to simple prose from her breath with a gulp of wine and dark bread. "The raven knows there is flesh for the taking, but it is not ripe yet".

"So we're waiting for that inventory to get an idea of what she will do next?" Z.W.E.I. raised an eyebrow.

"No" Viola sighed in exasperation. "With that inventory, I will only know if Dumas is truly a homunculus. Then we can be free to imagine some more."

"You're starting to sound like me" He said in an attempt to humour her.

Viola stared at him, unable to conceal her frustration. "You don't need to be here if you don't want to." Her voice took on a sadder tone. "I don't know how useful this will be. Possibly, all we will be able to do is defend when she attacks."

"I'll stay if you don't mind." He smiled discreetly in a manner Viola had grown used to.

"Fine." Indifference had long become an act, and trying to re-evoke it was only a laughable attempt, which both could see as clear as night. With no clouds in spite of the prevailing rain, it seemed time to leave only one lonesome candle to accompany the moon and the wolf on the small make-shift mattress on the library's floor. It had been a long time since the two engaged in intercourse, libido was still a timid sense for her, and she sensed her latent cravings remained dormant to yield attention to the war fought still. But on that night, in spite of the frustration and the anxiety of the wait, had he asked her or started to court her – touch and caress her, laying breath on skin turning slightly warmer on each moment of intimacy – she would not refuse him. On the handful of nights, it had been him spoiling her; though she knew not yet how to reciprocate, she wanted to.

He did not press further than holding her tight when sleep started to assert reign over their eyelids. She did not press further herself, for something she knew herself not ready for yet. Humanity was still a stranger, but soon, she and he hoped, both would indulge while youth were still on their side. One day.

Still under the protection of the Citadel, they were runaways.

A teardrop, then one more; Rain began anew later that night, when no moon on the sky looked on the Schwarzwind domains. One drop, then one more; clicks on the windowpane, so subtle like an unlikely lullaby. So peaceful the rain began anew on the night when the Schwarzwind Citadel burned.

"Z.W.E.I.!" Viola screamed. The walls had been blasted away, and men fought and died on the courtyard. He was nowhere in the library to be found. Soldiers screamed in horror and rage, lancers and swordsmen, archers and brawlers courted death that night in resistance before the sudden onslaught. Fire and rain, blood and distant echoes of a thought.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Coda

In spite of the suddenness, the assault on the Schwarzwind Citadel was not sudden at all. By only scratching on the surface, it could have been thought of as a surprise attack, unprovoked and thus, exacting prey on an unsuspecting rival. But Viola knew instinctively that it had to happen at some point; it was indeed the she-devil Tira's time to strike, a moment which she must have had meditated carefully and without the same haste from which she learned from the Dumas' scheme. Equally as her thoughts, the rest of the Schwarzwind's ranks had been unconsciously aware of the latent peril, and so, their blades and spears were as swift and firm as they had been on previous planned battles. Everyone knew that war was not yet over.

With her arms tight around her head, ducking under a table in protection from the exploding window, she wondered only why this attack came about in that precise moment. Z.W.E.I. was quickly reaching for the door to get a better view and join the defensive measures; his sword Kreuzgriff was kept in his lodging at the dormitory on the other side of the Citadel but a rack of varied, somewhat expendable weapons, lay ready at his disposition just a few metres from the library hallway. He grabbed a spear and climbed the stairs up to the balcony looking into the courtyard with the swiftness of a young wolf. He planned to peek through the cracks as he crouched, looking for a gap in the enemy's assault line, somewhere he could break in to debilitate the offence. Creeping barefoot, his pace was silent; his capability of self-control did not allow any change in his pace or the volume of his steps, and it was a golden asset to have in such a situation, for his eyes looked in horror at the fiery scene below.

It did not take Viola long after he ran out of the room to follow suit in direction for her sister. Likewise, she took hold of a sword from the rack and proceeded down another corridor. The light coming from the windows was orange, but Viola did not waste a second to look outside as she rushed down the hall in an untidy cotton attire; were she to be met with an enemy, the trousers and shirt were loose enough not to hinder her movements. At the turn of a corner, she expected to meet a hostile element, yet her sister's gasping did not make her loosen the tension of the battle.

"Amy. Where is your father?" Viola asked.

"He's gone out with the rest. I'm joining him!" Amy answered with as fiery as disposition as the burning ground outside.

"Wait! We must know first what is happening"

"We are being attacked! There is no more need be known!"

Viola did not argue. Every person at the Citadel was a soldier, and no time would be wasted on anything other than defending the base. She grabbed her sister's wrist as she ran towards another corner in the Citadel where they could possibly establish an effective defence. However, no sooner than halfway reaching their destination, Viola's red eyes widened in awe at having seen what the wolf had from the balcony. She had to think quickly and move just as fast.

Z.W.E.I. hesitated for a second before leaping two stories from the balcony into the courtyard, into a gap where the soldiers were not yet completely surrounded. As he landed on the grass, he thought that it may not matter if strategy was the more sensible way to go about the situation; they were outnumbered by ranks of soldiers not unlike Dumas' army, and outpowered by creatures of the like he had only heard about from Siegfried's memories around the fireplace and brew.

The amazement mingled with horror as the creatures took him by surprise. They could have been further away than he anticipated, but before he could start to charge ahead, two of them were already just inches from him. He flew back into the stonewall, slamming his spine and the back of his head on impact. Before he could try to play dead in order to counter-attack, they charged again, sending him right through the wall and into the kitchen. This time, he did get the chance to pretend he was incapacitated; had he opted to hold his breath, the disguise of the dead man would have been uncannily effective. As they walked away, he observed their appearance from the closer distance: green skin burning orange by the light of the fire, at least two metres tall each one, their weight was immeasurable – muscle in abundance, stiff in the outer layer of skin; dead titans, brought back to life. There was only one he knew of, the one Siegfried would talk about.

Astaroth.

Not only one anymore, but twelve as far as he could see; nothing hinted there weren't more. Doubt, in its most merciless whim could raise the number in the thousands.

But all that is dead can never be as wholesome as what breathes in wait for its demise. Despite, their brute strength, striking their weak points would prove more devastating to them than it would a bear. They walked away, without paying further thought to the stalking wolf. Z.W.E.I. measured the distance and took his time; his calculations had to be flawless. One breath at the wrong second, and the rest is silence.

Viola and Amy relied on their swiftness to evade the monster's axe. They found strength in numbers as the creature knew not which of the two sisters to attack. One swing of the axe carried too great a momentum to be stopped and ended etched into the wall. The struggled removal left wide enough a hole for Amy to see her father outside, outnumbered. A heaving breath escaped her as she found herself divided on who to assist: her newfound sister, or her father.

"Go!" Viola, the younger sister, made the decision for her.

A tear birthed on the redhead's eye as she ran to assist Raphael. Two rapiers in unison could surely decimate that front. All the while, Viola felt confidence rising as the giant's movements became predictable, and on the moment she could afford some liberality about her evasive manoeuvre, the undead giant was received with a vicious slash from Viola. The creature kicked forward to try and bring her down, but the seer rolled under the rising leg and sliced the vulnerable tendon in the process, thus crippling one of the Astaroth and leaving him wide open for a final blow. Viola's sword was relentless, though her pulse remained fast and violent even after having killed the giant. She stared at the broken mass of a body, her breathing loud and hearing muffled by the adrenaline. The white grape did not see or hear him, the shadow of the figure creeping behind her. She noticed too late.

Siegfried Schtauffen and his trusty swordsman Stephen fought back to back against the onslaught. Two Zwei-hander swords alike a cyclone of iron and steel turning red and black from tainted blood. It mattered no more, not in that moment, whether Isabella would find the missing piece in the picture; he had seen death and mocked it, and had been spat on the face by it as well, he had seduced it and stolen away, longed for its embrace and earned its love, but never before had the Schwarzwind's leader seen it so close. In spite of the effectiveness of their defence, taking the aggressive stance before the enemy ranks seemed nigh impossible as the numbers continued to grow. In matter of seconds, procedure and technique were lost, as were thoughts and language, and all that remained was a secular soul in the shape of two swords, dancing to a deadly high art, moving almost by themselves, with the wielders as mere vessels.

There was no survival, only the killing. For a moment, it seemed that the hungering throat of the violence would succeed in fending off all the adversaries. But it was a moment when the two swords became only one when the poetry of the warring arts was dispelled. A look of horror and rage loomed over his factions as Siegfried saw his comrade Stephen bleeding out on the ground. The outcome of this realization ensured all control would be lost, and the end was undeniable though the time would be debatable. The breath for a furious warcry gathered in his throat.

Her scream was muffled by a clawing hand closing in around her jaw. Never before had she experienced such pain; first a river, then a tidal wave of excruciating agony cruising from the tender flesh on her collarbone to the rest of her body. Her legs were debilitated, and rendered powerless to hold her weight, but something kept her on foot, though slouching in a contortion extending from her facial features to her fingers and toes. Finally, her stealthy attacker released her and she fell to the ground.

Viola could not blink as her face was left looking at another hole on a wall. She could not move, but could see well enough a hint of its appearance. A man, possibly, moving away like a wheel and groaning like an animal. Soon, all images appearing before her no longer had any sense, as far as time went – they could all have happened instantly after, or the resistance could have taken a longer span, perhaps a few hours more. Before her sight, soldiers died, others could barely get away – forever crippled and impaired, and others helped their fellow on their feet. Hildegard von Wolfkrone, she fought valiantly and skilfully, but she ultimately fell by the curse of Paris, an arrow.

The thought of her demise was the last thing she saw before darkness came over her.

Viola tried uttering a word, alas she could not.


	39. Chapter 39

Is this still read? I don't quite know! I admit I have neglected this story; mostly cause of school and shenanigans, but this is not over yet, and though I may falter about my constancy, this WILL reach its end the way it was always meant to.

I want to thank all the people who have read this, all the follows and faves; it means a lot to me, it really does. Hang tight.

Chapter 39: A Score of Echoes

It may have been a good wine or it may have been a mediocre brew, it mattered not. All she knew is that she was given to drink more than she ever had in one stand. Myriads of voices surrounded her and in the heavy fog of a mind of the moment, she could not recognise any; but of every incomplete thought that could come to her, the only nigh certain one was an awareness that she was in a small compartment. There was something else: she could not move.

She was given more to drink, but felt sick. Sensations then nudged her brain with unforgiving brutality. The pain, bathing her skin entirely from her toes to her shins, to her thighs and groin, her stomach and chest, arms and elbows, gathered on her right collarbone. She could have cried, and she knew not if she did, but thought it likely from her quivering toes and fingers. She was still not allowed to move, and she now knew so from hands gripping her tightly. A spasm of nausea took hold of her, and she started choking. It was the amount of alcohol she was given, as well as a violent motion under her, like the inner heaving of a beast or the trampling of a legion. Her vocal cords vibrated but she perceived no sound other than chaos; perhaps, she thought, she could not recognise her own voice.

Timeless darkness followed; her body was cold, raced through by shiver.

She opened her eyes once more, the motion remained but her nausea let up while pain remained. Vision was a blur, so were her thoughts, but recognition was granted by some unknown force of the mind. The first she could tell apart from the shapeless mud of confusion was a figure to her left, two metres away. Her eyes covered in a makeshift eyeshade and the rest of her body sheltered in thick blankets, she spotted a birthmark next to her mouth; the rest of her body was moving absently. Viola knew her, but the name of Hildegard von Wolfkrone was still beyond grasp. Light poured in from somewhere, dying red strands of hair into gold.

Coldness returned at the next thought and another figure became heterogeneous from the mass. She recognised him with ease. Z.W.E.I. did not hide the pain in his eyes as he watched her; he was sitting right across from her, their legs were almost crossed with each other's from the limited space they were in, and he could not move either. Was the pain in his gaze about himself, or a consequence of what he saw when he looked at her? He may have tried to reach forward and caress her cheek, alas he did not. Why?

Suddenly the voices raged anew, disembodied though familiar. She could not tell the emotions apart from the volume, nor whom each belonged to. The pain never subsided, but grew stronger parallel with the noise. In a sudden isolated moment of silence, she sensed her own voice – whimpering though her physicality had seemed all too distant now from the threshold of pain. Shadows moved all about the reduced extension of the compartment, frantically and seemingly fearful on one side, defying on the other. Viola tried uttering a word, but her tongue did not feel like one of her own; the girl then grew restless and anxious, she ached to express herself but only the basest of thoughts survived to her mouth, and even those could not be delivered into speech. However, her thoughts on the outer situation at hand could not be spoken, whereas one tragically did, for she felt like a lame child, dumb and crippled. In that moment, she felt her dignity wounded and could have moaned in despair had she not seen two familiar orbs, constant amidst the masquerade of disorder.

The look on his eyes was hardly reassuring. The blue steadiness that she had known was crumbling as she knew was her red security in shambles after what had transpired days ago, which seemed all the clearer to her as hours passed. Nevertheless, it was not strength what she saw in his eyes, but a plea. He believed in her, and for him, he pleaded for her to believe. In what, it mattered not. Faith was all they had.

The next day, it seemed as if the dance of shadows were but a dead episode that yielded to a chorus of light. Viola could only turn her head to her right, yet saw no window to let the sunshine in, looked above and still saw no access. She struggled to turn left, and finally her head yielded to her command, not reluctantly but rather expecting, as if the moment deserved the effort, and thus she saw the source of the light. Red haired, and red eyed piercing bright with intention; Viola had but a hint, yet knew in that moment that motherly love is a force beyond the understanding of flesh. Marie, the woman who gave life to Amy and Viola had never been given the mother's joy in embracing her daughters, for she had to set them into the arms of others as a means of protection. This is the tragedy of the woman who could sing the song of the nightingales and bring colours from the ether into earth, no alchemy or soul science and art can equal the beauty of the a fulfilled heart, of being with those you love.

"Mama?" Viola called. Her voice was clear, and unhindered by the confusion of the past recent times.

"Noli timere" Marie said to her, in her own silky strong pitched voice, one that Viola had subconsciously yearned to hear for so long. 'Don't be afraid' was all she said before the light vanished and the white grape realised it had been a dream. She started to weep.

Viola pressed her hands against her mouth to muffle the sound of her pain, she bent forward within the reduced space of where she was, next to half a dozen others, all asleep, and sunk into catharsis. When the tears ran dry, she braced herself but did not feel the bare skin of her arms. Only then she realised that she was dressed in a cotton gown, long, white and overly worn: it was the attire given to the wounded and the sick in the Citadel's infirmary. Why was she wearing it?

She could not remember in that moment that the Citadel had been attacked. In the briefness of her vulnerability, she did not summon the hint of where she was, and why was she with so few of Schwarzwind.

All she knew is that she had been out of herself for some time.

She looked over the slumbering faces in the compartment. She recognised Siegfried, Hilde... and Z.W.E.I.

Within an hour she fell asleep again, and by evening, when the window on the right was open to let in the breeze of the nocturne, she woke up gradually with an access of lingering drowse.

"Viola, you are finally awake!" Hildegard called not without a tone of relief. "Come closer, open your eyes wide."

Viola complied, confused partly by the request. She felt Lady Hilde's thumbs pulling down on her lower eyelids, looking attentively at her red eyes.

"Good lord, you look quite alright now. That's good. Z.W.E.I. will be overjoyed when he wakes up. You've been slipping through our fingers for about a month now. We were concerned you would never return." Hilde looked around to the others, Viola being the only one awake. "We need to make the most of this" She spoke somewhat quietly. "We're on our way to get us some new clothes, and we'll sorely need them where we're headed. Yes, you don't know yet; but let me fill you in on what happened and where we're going. Maybe we can skip the briefing later on when we arrive."

"Where are we going?" Viola asked.

"Our most immediate destination will be Prague. We'll be in for a short stay, however. After that, we'll head into the hot and cold: Moscow."


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40: A Moveable Feast

Never before had Viola and Z.W.E.I. seen such luxury, static in the idleness of tapestries, marbled columns and reflecting walls. The Pale Moon had still trouble walking without giving away a weeks-old lingering dizziness, and she hardly dared look toward the ceiling, anticipating an uncanny vertigo of falling upward into the darkness unreachable by the columns. Instead, she kept her eyes on floor level, occasionally peering at a hallway that appeared to lead into a grand library, and at times fixating on the man at her side – a wounded wolf relying on her and Siegfried's shoulder as he walked with a severe limp. It was a painful sight for Viola; though she could look away at any time, the reminiscence of a kind stranger lending his sword in Arles made her eyes turn back.

Z.W.E.I. kept his gaze straight, the highest he could in the state he was. Soft candlelight appeared searing to his bloodshot eyes and often strayed into a dance of spectra. The pain on his leg, his shoulders, his stomach and chest were nothing to him next to a reminiscence of an aloof stranger returning a generous disposition with fierce cooperation. Since the two started travelling together, they were a force to be reckoned with – despite moments of forced schism and vulnerability. Nevertheless, and despite all his effort, in the end, he had failed her. After breaking free from Dumas' rule, he had been infallible and would have stomached a hundred casualties far better than what had transpired a month ago. The Citadel's fall.

She had said so with her accustomed coldness, gradually defrosting. "There is no shame. Z.W.E.I." Her warmth peered timidly through her words as she spoke one more time "There is no shame." She meant it, he knew but cared not.

"Lady von Wolfkrone! It has been a while, has it not?" A silky throaty female voice thundered from a staircase descending into the hall.

"Indeed, it has. Lady Valentine" Hildegard von Wolfkrone's voice rivalled their host in dignity, though a hint of bitterness was too evident not to be deliberate. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You honour me with your gratitude. Sir Schtauffen, it is good to see you again." Isabella walked a graceful step, dressed in an expensive, war-worn looking riding suit, clearly suited for somebody anticipating war. "So these are your prodigies. They certainly must be if they survived the onslaught." She approached Z.W.E.I. and lifted his chin to look at him, diminished one size shorter than her statuesque height. Ivy observed for a few seconds, several instants longer than Viola – who had just then noticed how strikingly beautiful this woman was – would have borne. "My, oh my, Oliver. How you've grown." She gently caressed a lock of black and silvery hair as her eyes remained on him.

Viola stood with a scorned expression. A question choked in her tongue as Ivy turned to her. She looked into the woman's eyes and saw: A lifetime of atrocities committed, a ledger gushing red and an enterprise of redemption willing to dye the world black to see its fulfilment. A woman capable to being the most dangerous person alive were Tira to disappear. "Well, aren't you a jewel, love?" Ivy placed her fingers on Viola's cheek and carefully traced under her right eyelid. Though Viola's capability was unique, she knew Isabella Valentine had too a way to read into her, an overwhelming instinct honed by tears, savagery, hatred and erudition. "Uncanny, truly uncanny" She seemed lost in Viola's red pupils.

"Where is Monsieur Sorel?" Ivy asked a question, long anticipated and answer-bound.

"I'm afraid we lost track of him after the attack." Siegfried spoke wearily. "I think him or his daughter unlikely to be dead. Yet we know now there could be a worse fate awaiting them."

"That poor, poor child" Ivy felt silent. Her words sounded heavy with a grief betraying her dignified image. Both Viola and Z.W.E.I. recognised a familiarity in her tone: a mother. "Finding Amy and Raphael is a imperative. Would you speak against it, Schtauffen?" Her voice became cold as steel.

"No" He answered ashamed.

"Good." She ran a hand through her short silvered hair. "Come now, you two. I'll show you to the bath chambers. I did away with most of the servants a long time ago, so I will show you the dressing rooms as well. Please do pick something nice. Rags I can hardly tolerate even in the most graced of champions."

Weariness made time undetermined, neither knew whether it had been a plentiful hand or a couple of hours. In two of a row of six bathing chambers, coated in mosaics of copper and amber, each – the wounded wolf and the shadowed moon – let their flesh be soothed, pampered. A strange music beat about their temples, though they knew it not, a song for the two and nobody else. Viola tried closing her eyes, give in and sleep for a moment, alas she could not. She knew he had a role to fulfil, to make sense out of chaos.

She washed herself, patiently and with a steady hand; ran the water through the strands of her hair until it felt smooth, and scented oil on her skin till she no longer felt pursued. She was confident he would need more time than she did. Wrapped in towels as a modest dress and a shawl over her shoulders, Viola entered Z.W.E.I.'s bathing chamber and sat on the edge across from him. She dipped her feet on the hot water as she looked in his eyes.

"You are not broken. I will never allow you to be broken." She spoke coldly.

Like before, he did not bring himself to say anything. The wolf avoided her eyes.

"Look at me, Z.W.E.I." Her voiced became stern. "Look. At. Me." She was becoming herself, before meeting him.

"Viola, I..."

"You love me." She interrupted.

"I do." He admitted with his youthful voice gone weak.

"I do not need a crystal ball, nor far sight, nor magic to know that." Viola did not hesitate. "You rescued me and cared for me when I did not think I needed anybody. You made sense out of my words and made me use my own strength for something else than myself. Have you an idea as to how you have changed me? I am grateful for it. You unlocked my humanity."

Z.W.E.I. struggled to approach, but she urged him to remain still and instead walked through the water to him.

"Oliver, you did not fail me and never have. But you cling to that conviction – that useless, empty conviction – and that is a sin to yourself, one I will not forgive you." She forced him to look right in her eyes. "I will care for you, and your wounds will heal. A war is coming and we will fight together, to the end. And you will be equal to me. I know you will not let me head into the fire on my own."

Tears welled up his eyes, reluctantly falling from his obstinacy. He could not stomach admitting his current state. Finally, he gave in.

Crouching in front of him, she embraced her wolf and kissed his forehead as a balm to his loathing – failure. "Never fear." Her voice was a whisper. Lacking in the assets they used to have, fallen from the grace of their might, they had little time to climb back up. He embraced her by placing his hands on the back of her head, ultimately locking a commitment. On they would fight.

Five days they would stay at the Valentine dominion. During this time, a briefing on the course of action was made. What remained of the Schwarzwind would stay split throughout the Eastern European country where Tira had stationed, according to Ivy Valentine's watch. They would amass their assets and keep on stealthy surveillance for the moment to strike her stronghold in Nyenschantz. The Soulless Vixen was in the process of creating one last champion of the Cursed Sword through the use of the knowledge stolen from the seared Valentine Mansion years ago.

The crafting of a homunculus from Raphael Sorel's slumber – facilitated by his daughter's intangibility, the grooming of Pyrrha Alexandra as host of Soul Edge both proved perilous, but flawed measures. They knew Tira would not allow a third failure, thus preparations would need a hollow margin for error. On the following weeks, Isabella Valentine took on the role of sponsor for the cause, by contacting allies to end the menace. While Siegfried Schtauffen's party settled in Moscow, warriors from the East would make their way into the cold lands, an master of ancient times would leave his solitude, two siblings bound with the swords would aid them, and she herself – the woman known as Ivy – would strike along when the time proved adequate.

On the fourth day, Viola and Ivy made a gift to Z.W.E.I.

"Hold still, child. It will not be long" Isabella warned as she stirred the black content of the jug. Her blade was sharp and fine like diamond.

"Suit yourself, the pain won't be a bother. Not anymore at least." He said with an old resolution.

"You have been incomplete for a long time, Oliver." Ivy sunk the blade into the jug and pulled it out seething in black steaming ooze. "Child, place your hand on the gap." Viola knew instantly what was to be done and she lay a firm palm on his chest, in the centre of his crescent moon. "Breathe deep. Light burns as dark smothers, the moon is indulgent to most. But you know already, it can't be to you." She traced a circle with in the centre of his tattoo with the fine blade as his skin hissed from the scorch.

"Faith has led you to this destination. Will you remove your hand?" Ivy asked.

"No." Viola said with the weight of a stone.

The ink closed in on Viola's palm as the circle became full. The burn left no mark on her palm, for all was absorbed by his skin.

The moon had become full.

On the final day before departure, word had arrived that Stephen managed, dodging death nigh miraculously, to escape the Citadel along with Siegfried and Hilde's children. Though tidings in the East were grim, fate had seemingly granted the wounded party one blessing, one glimmer of hope. Something small, yet monumental.

With new vigour and attires fitting for the troubled road ahead, they bid their farewells to their host. A oath was made, sealed in duty, to prevail until the ultimate consequences claimed their lives, or the mission came to succeed.

Before stepping into the wagon, Ivy placed her hand on Z.W.E.I.'s shoulder. His puzzlement and intrigue seemed to know no bounds, though time for answers was not for this hour to engage.

"Oliver. You do your father proud."


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41: The Waste Land

"Papa!" Amy yelled in his ear."Papa!"

No light inhabited that home they occupied, a cabin of fallen trees, dead and rotten, grey as stone. It had seemed at first to her as if they were in an enclosed grove of a woods fortress, but a pale opaqueness cast on his face yanked her mind outwards. Everything around them was but a ghost of what it had once been; the trees had been stripped of all leaves, all bulk about their branches gone like dust in the wind. The roots could account for nothing, for what life could they draw from soil gone stale? The waning moonlight led only further from the land of beget.

"Papa." She called once more.

In his skin, she struggled from wishful thinking to see the greyness as the reflection of the moon. She wanted desperately to see life in two watery slivers concealed in a tiny slid of his eyelids. Raphael Sorel did not appear to be breathing. She could see darkening veins about his limbs and neck, idle – entirely? Yes, no?

"Papa! Papa!" Amy Sorel held his wide brimmed hat close to her chest, and just as she pressed it tighter, the calm abandoned her voice until she could hear her own womanly despair trapped in the whimper of a teenager. The shining sliver in his eyes was static, frozen in deathly idleness like distant stars. Amy tried shaking his body to see his stars flicker, at the very least a glimmer of life in a silence of an old man trapped in the frame of one in his prime.

Doomed both were, by a curse that would never let them age. Though he would leave a beautiful corpse, what would await her – but solitude – one to whom death would always be a cold stranger.

Cold.

Strange.

Raphael and Amy, Father and Daughter, very much alike. If Amy was immortal as she came to understand after 18 years, then so must Raphael be. Then, a dreadful thought came upon her, triggered by her deduction, of her father remaining very much alive, but once more doomed to slumber and held hostage by rebellious flesh. She had read so in the Citadel's library, in one clinical tome written by one whose name she had trouble uttering; the record on a man whose hearted beat on, but his eyelids would not open, though his limbs would move, they did so in a clockwork fashion, devoid at all of their humaneness. The man was eventually starved to death so his flesh would no longer be a cage. But what of he who could not starve?

Three hours had passed since she removed the arrows from his back. Four earlier he could do naught but grunt, cough and heave, barely able to move his legs in a straight line forward. Amy wished he had said something, one word, before he fell on his tracks like a fainting actor on stage, ragdoll and void of resistance.

Taunting herself until she believed her father was still alive, but her question was whether or not he would awake. Will his body yield its fertility granted by what was left of human in him to future corpseflowers? All the while the eye of his soul remained wide open? Amy screamed in despair at the thought, so hopeless and ruinous, driven by the horrors that this world had revealed to her. "Why him?" She yelled. He was an affable man, ruthless and loving, capable of learning from his mistake, but always unrelenting. Why him indeed, when there were many others – oh so many – whose life was a waste and an offence on the theatre of mankind.

Why could it not have been the countless converted minions that served her father? Tramps, thieves, thugs and rogues, unruly and remorseless on their past deeds. For the new life granted on them by Raphael Sorel, the last of his name, yielding their motion to him would be but a debt paid, maybe only in part. Why could it not have been her mother, who abandoned her to the merciless streets? For the hollow in Amy's life of a mother, Marie could hardly have any other role worth fulfilling after forsaking her. Why could it not have been her sister and her wolf? They set the wheel in motion, showed her hope in reuniting her with her father... only for her to lose him again.

Amy's every thought sparked once and then twice to counter itself. In time, as she sat on the dry leaves at her father's side, she killed each blame by distancing herself from her wrath. Playing chess with herself, countering and anticipating, she sought to make sense out of their impending fate. Those minions served the Sorel household with loyalty. Marie, her mother, was too a victim of tragedy, a story that even the power of her younger child could not fully know. Viola - a woman sharing her features, her red eyes granted as gift from her mother as Amy's were a gift from her father – was overjoyed in discovering she had a relative. Convinced she was one of the few people who had ever seen her smile, she thought that Viola had never been granted the joy of having a loving father.

Her wolf, he too had a part to play. Had he not defeated the abomination crafted from her father's flesh, his slumber would have never seen an end. Was the pain of the likelihood of never hearing him speak or sing again greater than the joy of him holding her in his arms? In the ongoing dialogue within herself, Amy found a new anger that grew outward and inward. Not without a sense of irony, eternal youth limited the lives of the Sorel family; Raphael's hair would never grow thin nor grey, nor would he ever acquire the voice of he who tells stories and gives blessings, and she would never be fitting to love a man, to beget and cradle her own children. Such right was clearly given to Viola, alas Raphael would have sought a way to end the curse; but then, it happened.

She happened, the one that held the ring of death, lingering and turning around her whim. Light had been shed, and her anger found its rightful vessel.

Tira was to blame. Tira was to condemn. Tira was to die. For the evil she had caused her, Amy vowed she would pierce her right through that black heart of hers. She clung to the thought until it overshadowed everything else. It entertained her to fantasise on the judgment she would cast upon that unholy soul, she revelled on her own cruelty until a twig snapped by the wind. Then, startled, Amy discovered that she scared herself.

"I am not this." Almost without taking a breath beforehand, she yelled. "I AM NOT THIS!"

She turned to her father, idle as he had been, hoping he would say with the voice he would summon when reading bedtime stories, "You are not her, Amy. You will never be"

As time passed by, the hatred relented and loosened grip over her. "Fear not" he said at times, even when she showed no sign of being afraid. Thus, she tried not to be afraid for his fate in this valley of tears of a forest. Maybe life could grace this soil once more; perhaps left to the mercy of the elements could Raphael awake. Then Amy considered becoming a gardener to this ground, though that would mean forsaking revenge. But if she could be loyal to the desire at the deepest of her core, hatred would become as light and meaningless as dust.

Amy sat on the ground, her tattered clothes matching the odd patterns of broken leaves, and took a deep breath. And, one unabashed tear at a time, she let go, and gave in to the garden of the stony trees, the sanctuary of the slumbering Sorel. What else was there to this world, but that which truly mattered? Alas, this conviction was not for her, and just as quickly as the hatred passed, so did acceptance, and beneath she found only death. What else was there to this world, what truth but that which rules all?

Everything dies, even the noble, even the wicked, even the innocent, even the beloved.

At that moment, Amy was so sunken in the bittersweet quiet of reality lulling over her shoulder that she failed to notice it had been raining – not heavily enough to hint life blooming under the leaves. When the grey light of the skies turned dark blue from the cold breeze, the dam broke. Hiding her face in the palms of her hands, she wept. Much like her sister, she never had done before, until a moment arose that the soul was on its knees. It may have run in the family, cool headed and dominant in temperance. Little did Amy know, her father too wept when he realised what fate was to befall her from the path he had chosen, and on the hours preceding and following his slumber, he wept like a man ultimately defeated.

Even the mighty eventually fall on their knees.

Water did not wash away the silence, what did Amy could not expect. It came about with a sound the like of which she had never heard or dreamed before. On the days, weeks, years, decades to follow she would reminisce and attempt to describe it: a sort of a groan leading into a whisper from a metallic throat, constant, almost clockworkwise, organic and sentient, fading gradually into silence. The footsteps on the leaves followed as Amy looked around, trying to find the source of the sound; when the man stood before her, silence had again befallen.

"Shantih, Shantih, Shantih" He said.

Amy looked at him unashamed of her tears. He the tallest man she had ever seen, a wide and powerful frame clothed in a dark blue coat with white and copper stripes about his sleeves, heavily ornamented with rusty jewels and charms hanging in chains across his chest and waist. She could not see his face, the shadow cast from a wide brimmed had concealed every feature. He carried something on his back, yet she could not make it out.

"Shantih, Shantih, Shantih" He resumed in a smooth voice caught between youth and age.

"Who are you?" Amy asked, untrusting.

"I am only here to help. You need it, he needs it, we all will need it." He said hauntingly.

"What do you want?" She quickly moved towards the body of her father.

"I want you to do something" He crouched before her. She could tell he was looking straight into her eyes from a blackened sight, albeit perceptive beyond wonder. He pulled something out of his coat, something too large to fit inconspicuously in such a garment, long and thick, heavy looking. He placed it before her and waited for her to touch it. Two long wooden boxes bound together by a purple string and a rose. He motioned her to place her hand on the surface.

"I have no time for this..." Amy clung to her father.

"You have all the time in the world for this." His voice did not lose its patient tone.

Hesitatingly, she complied. The surface was warm, likely because of travel inside the man's coat for possibly a great distance. She felt within the boxes a sort of a gentle vibration, almost imperceptible but unstable as far as could be felt, like a whim, like a thought, flexible and unbound. She knew. She knew not what she knew. But she knew.

"I lied." The man's voice became cold. "You do not have all the time in the world. Not now, not here, at least. You must travel far and travel fast, due East. It is meant to be; otherwise, this story will end long before its time."

Amy was at a loss for words, she could not immediately comply nor oppose his words. "My father, I cannot leave him here. I do not know... I cannot bury him. I just don't know."

"Hush now." He sounded somewhat exasperated. "This exceeded the original design, but I have no reason to believe the outcome will not be delivered if some deviations are undertaken. If I ask you to cooperate, I must too be ready to cooperate." He seemed then almost delighted in emphasising every syllable on the word. "You will carry the box from this moment on until your destination. I will carry him. I must ask you, however, to chant as we walk."

"Chant?" She asked as she tied the boxed to her back.

"Shantih, Shantih, Shantih. It is not difficult."

"What does that mean?" Amy asked.

"It means that we have reached a state, and now we must look around and see. So then, the pace can be undertaken once more." The man's voice had a prophetic tone to it.

They walked for hours out of the forest into the seemingly infinite void of the stony trees. Words were spoken, some were vague hints and others unmistakably instructions, some flexible, others precise and stern. At some point, the man placed his hand on the back of her head and the sound she had heard was summoned anew, and as it begat silence, Amy knew no more how she had gotten where she was, nor if someone accompanied her. The sound was all that remained as she sat on the carriage, manned by an old silent driver on the command of two white horses. All she knew was that she carried something important with a destination for Nyenschantz.

Behind her sat heavier cargo, a larger box: a coffin, creaking from the unsteady movement of the carriage on a stony road. Somebody coughed inside of it, repeatedly, like a troubled sleeper reaching for a balm to ease the night.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Kiev

"And I am divided, between penguins and cats. But it's not about what animal you've got. It's about being able to fly, It's about dying nine times" Viola cradled Z.W.E.I.'s head on her arms as she sang on his ear. The two lay down on a battered bed with stains of lovers and stories spread about. "It's about being able to fly. It's about dying nine times" She sang on. The tea brewed on a rusted vessel over the hearth, and that was all that there was before their eyes on one moment of calm amidst the looming chaos.

The inn had taken the four of them without trouble. Newly attired and weary still, they seemed like any other pack leaning into the further, colder East. Coated, the Wolf and the Moon had their clothes entangled in neglectful glee, leathered layers pressed about in a labyrinth, unhooded - her long black dress mingled with his loosened brown slacks, hair on hair, fingers intertwined, dark on dark, and blinding light within.

"Where did you learn that song?" He asked, enchanted.

"I don't know. It just... came." Viola felt the taste of the grain brew, foreign to her, coursing from her toes to the tips of her fingers. Outspoken and unfolded, affectionate and unabashed, she dared not stand the cold with a grey facade. While they had still the room to themselves, she would seize his ear and let go into the unknown. Through her travels, she has listened to all sorts of lays, nocturnes, boleros, serenades, ballads; never before had she thought of singing one herself. The verses came in a waking dream, distant and obscure. The tune had a hint of all, it sounded loving, though remorseful. An elegy, perhaps? "I've never sung before. Not even to myself." She admitted.

"Let it not be the last time." He spoke.

"I heard it from a woman. Her accent was strange." Viola reflected. "Distant."

"Viola. How do did you listen to this song?" Z.W.E.I. asked, slightly intrigued. "Was it through your ears, or your other senses?"

"Perhaps, I am perceiving things I did not think possible." She exhaled. "Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps" A cadence grew into her voice. She did not think it was the alcohol she drank to become accustomed to the cold, but the awareness of survival. Their wounds were nursed, yet they were graver than anticipated. His frame had been brutally battered and a stealthy fiend's vicious bite struck into her nerves, forcing her into paralysis. Were it not for a fortunate margin of skin, she would have not been able to even utter again. In spite of the days of calamity and the losses, they remained; they lived to see another day.

"I wish I too were musically gifted." Z.W.E.I. chuckled. "I can play a pretty mediocre balalaika, for what it's worth."

"When the sun comes up, we will become soldiers anew, will we not?"

"Yeah... " An instant of silence followed. "We've gotten rusty, and we can't let that stay for long. It's gonna be hard honing our war skills, scheming, keeping a network nice and hidden. We also have to get new weapons, and more fitting war attires. I get dizzy just thinking about it."

"Would that not be the drink?" Viola asked affably. She knew much had to be done for the months to come, as well as the need to remain on a low profile; though she could hide her silver head under a hood and a shawl for as long as it needed to be, something else was amiss. "You still have to teach me to speak the tongue."

"That, as well." Z.W.E..I. turned his head to look up at her. "Will you teach me Latin, Italian and Greek?"

"Maybe. I am not as patient a teacher as you will need to be to me." A cheeky hint of a smile dared her lips.

"Why do I need to be the patient one here?" He protested.

"Because you love me." She remarked boldly.

"You do like hitting below the belt. How about you? Do you love me?"

"If I did not, I would not be singing to you, nor would I be here, fighting alongside you and the others."

Silence groomed the occasion as the water boiled.

"Do you ever regret it?" He asked.

Never, she never did. Viola knew her wolf too much to doubt his concern; she could see it from the very day they started serving in Schwarzwind's ranks. Back when they were only the blossom of an odd friendship, she was quick to sense a badly concealed shame in him – he felt she would have been better off running into the distance after their first encounter. As confidence between them grew into affection, his shame grew and deepened until it became a figment he cornered in the back of his mind. He denied feeling it still, but she knew better then and knew better now. Maybe it will forever haunt him, a broken leaf of a question – the most terrible of all.

What if? The realm of possibilities yielded a cruel bargain, a world in which they had never met. A bliss in a life unaltered in exchange for an apology that dared not be uttered. She soon wiped the gloom with a strange occurrence she remembered from her travels. Many of the men bored her with the same predicaments concerning adultery and mistrust, some others sought fame in the horizon, but a handful piqued her interest: men who did not ambition gold, young flesh or glory, but certainty and comfort. These were those whose spirit faltered in fear of failure. Husbands of a kind nature, most of them sounded like him.

"How are we to dissociate in the crowd? We cannot be the Wolf and the Seer, lest we could endanger this mission." Viola asked.

"I haven't thought about that. I'd have to consult Siegfried." Z.W.E.I. rubbed his eyelids.

"Would we not effectively blend in if you posed as a farmer with a healing limp, and I as your cold tongued wife?" Her tone did not change.

"Wouldn't it be easier if I married you?" He uncovered her intent.

"I do not like rings..." Her voice lowered into a dismissal for a moment. "But you did make a promise in Prague. If you made a vow now, I would accept it."

"We'll think about it, I guess." He took her hand and kissed it. "They probably won't take long now. Before they get back here, tell me about your song."

"It is not my song." She shrugged. "But I can sing it to you only one more time"

"I'll take it." He finally said, with more than one meaning to his words.

Thus she sang until she lulled him to sleep. She felt older, and strangely not displeased about it. A fleeting belch in her breath signalled her eyelids soon to give in to the forest-like spice of the brew, along with her voice. In the morning as they leave the inn for the East, the world would become an ugly place once more. When Hilde and Siegfried returned with travel supplies, they found the two sleeping tight by each other, driven by the cold and affection.

It's about being able to fly, It's about dying nine times

Like a stolen breath of prey, Viola awoke in the middle of the night. She saw Z.W.E.I., Siegfried and Hilde – fast asleep and unaware of the groan of wardrums drawing closer and further in ambivalent cadence. Extinguished candlelight soared slowly through a sliver of smoke by the window, and pitch black stood outside, as no other buildings, clouds, people or land appeared in sight. She sat for several minutes at the edge of one of the beds, bracing herself and shifting her eyes in every direction. She could not yet see it, but knew it was there, in the very same room as they. The wardrums increased their speed – her heart, until she saw it at last: the ballet of the shadows.

Figments of lives soon to come and long passed. Her powers, as she remembered them before Quattor Orbis' shattering returned with unmatched might and lucidity. Minutes passed as she saw them all walking around the room sitting, standing and crouching intangible. With a blink they went away, with a thought and a will, they returned. She did not recall having such control. Unwilling to utter a sound, she pointed her fingers at an inkwell on a stool by the door.

Nigh soundlessly, the recipient responded to her command as it hovered toward her hands, gently as a servant. She stared at it on the palm of her hand, baffled still. Instinctively, Viola grabbed a rag from the sheet on the bed and extended it as if were paper. Unsure of her own intent, she dipped the nail of her ring finger on the surface of the ink and, without wasting a drop, traced a symbol on the sheet with her right hand.

A rose, that which united her sister and her.

In the blink of an eye, her eyes were no longer hers. Her right hand had become a left hand, tracing a wooden surface in front of her. A box. With yet another blink, her eyes were once more her own, staring at a picture of a rose, painted on a bedsheet in the middle of Kiev. Without a breath further, she summoned the shadows anew and shaped them into a fitting form, into that which she desired to see without knowing it. The grey and the pale became a warm palette of oaks, purples, reds and lit candles: It was a place of roses and lilies, the Den of Marie, the Sorceress, Viola and Amy's mother.

Marie was at her side as the child read a book and uttered out loud what she learned from it. The sound of her voice as it repeated, approving and loving, along with her daughter was distant, as was the sensation of Marie combing Viola's hair, possibly in a time before her hair had become silver as the moon and her eyes red as wine. It would not take long, for magic ran deep in their blood. As the blink became a trance, Kiev disappeared and only her mother's den remained around her, decorated in marvellous distant fashions. Viola knew this must have been what her mother would have wanted with Amy before catastrophe had set them apart. Oh, what joy would it have been for the Sorceress to have both her daughters under her protection; the thought muffled the sounds of the night. Viola was here no more.

As the night went by, Oliver - the one known as Z.W.E.I.- went deeper under his sleep and into a catatonic state at once when he suddenly awoke – unable to make a sound, unable to move, unable to loosen his fingers as the pain flooded his body. A roar of a bile drenched throat was kept bided within, nurturing the fabric under his skin. A balm of fire undoing damage, reforging bone, breathing new life under gritted teeth. As minutes went by, the pain abandoned every limb as it travelled into a centre, his chest – the eye on the moon. Thus, at once, he was released from the forced idleness and into the world with stronger colours about his sight and extraordinarily vivid smells and sounds around him. Sweat and slow heartbeats, he could smell Viola, distant into her vision.

And all at once, a shadow emerged at the window in Marie's Den. That must have been it, the moment when Viola's mother severed her memories to protect her. As smoke quickly fading into naught, Viola reached forward as she tried preserving the vision into the past for an instant longer. Alas, it was gone, and she was back in Kiev.

She turned to look at Z.W.E.I. wide awake and staring at her, confused as she was. Her eyes fixated on him for an instant, and an alarmed expression shocked him, almost as if she had read something in him that she could not see before.

And she had.

Viola quickly reached towards him and placed her hands on his shoulders as she urged him to stay still and silent. Her red eyes moved across the line of her sight, as if she were listening to myriads of voices at once, feeling and understand each one without feeling overwhelmed. They finally arrived at a centre, at the man in front of her.

"So that is why you know Russian..." She said quietly.

Confused, he tried speaking before she urged him to keep his words yet. Wondering if she was repulsed by him, he tried uttering with his eyes.

She said nothing. She understood; much time has passed for her not to. Minutes passed, and she never blinked once. "This is going to kill you" she whispered in his ear with deep sadness, as the identity of E.I.N. – his other shadow – had been revealed to her. He knew what she was talking about, overwhelmed by her understanding, he could tell by the look in her eyes, she did not want to tell him what she had learned.

Blinking rapidly while her eyes moved as if she slept, she gathered something from every figment past and future she summoned. With an unwilling belch, she seemed finally too tired, but not too early as to impede her the result she had pursued.

Calmly, she told him to lay down to sleep, and promise her that she would trust her. "Fate does not exist" Viola told him. "Choice, voice, masks, colours unending; all are weaved into a leaf meant to fall, one of many, many of infinity. All is possible." She had made it clear to her, as he had to her that their powers had made an uncanny return, something which could surely yield into consequences from invisible causes. "Please, trust me." Restless, she sighed and wheezed. "I will join you in a moment. You need not say anything."

An hour has passed after they went back to sleep. "Noli timere" Viola whispered once more in his ear, but she could not remember whether or not she merely dreamt of doing so.

Morning dawned on the Schwarzwind's refugees with a hastened departure into the carriage. Siegfried Schtauffen looked drowsy still and in a foul mood; his silence loomed as a request not to be addressed for hours to come. Surely, he had trouble sleeping, possibly in anticipation of the ordeal to come.

"Let's make haste, now." Hilde said. "We need to arrive to Moscow as soon as possible in order to await further notice from the others." Schwarzwind's Second in Command seemed distracted. "In the mean time, I will need you two to be awake. Our first priority will be shelter – how do we get it? Let's come up with ideas, people. Weapons, we have secured little to nothing – your Kreuzgriff has been rendered useless, Z.W.E.I., so I'll have you on the lookout for new weapons. Right now, I want you to teach Viola the basics: phrases, greetings, requests, insults, whatever you deem useful, Let's see now... " By the look of their faces on her, she realised she had been talking too fast to be understood. "My, you two look well rested."


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43: Song for the Innocent

"Ooohhhh" She uttered gaily as she hung upside down from the chamber's chandelier. The colours on her hair forced themselves into the sight of the ground below; purple and white colliding into red and flooding all – from the domain of her room of angels and into the octagon centre under the fortress basements. Red reached out towards the confines of the spider's limbs – six tunnels reaching into the dark and one arm clawing the gloom of Tira's dwelling with the world above. This was the hand that kept the world of man and Hell together, the link of history to the Cursed Sword.

The sounds of the underground pulsated about her temples, as did every breath of every bulk of dead mass, quivering restless in wait of their next battle cry. Their first assignment yielded great rewards; might they received for a show of their potential, a simple siege that yielded great devastation. The next time they trampled, further ecstasy of fire would be pushed into their flesh. They thought it a shame and a waste that the following move had to be carried out by the Spider. Clearing out the fortress above should have been the doing of a proper army, and not the deed of an aberration. Such was the thought of the undead, but not that of their leader who needed their lodging cleared out with not a sound for the remnants of Schwarzwind to be stirred just yet.

The Spider himself she did not see in the poor lighting, but heard well enough as he hissed and moaned, thrust and walk on all four ends. Furthermore, Tira smells him – all of him and beyond the physical bound in metal and leather. She grins in morbid fascination as she senses his hunger; for he has tasted the Moon's tender flesh and craves savagely for more. "Pretty" She said to herself, somewhat envious. Tira remembered still the brief encounter they had on the night of the siege on Dumas' castle: the swiftness of her movements, and the hidden rage that betrayed her grace. A deceptively easy prey and so beautiful; Tira exhaled in arousal at the thought of licking the tears of her face as she dissected her pet. The sounds of her horror and screaming excited her into laughter. She wondered then, at the time of their next encounter, if she would adhere to this musing or swap her first blood of the fated night for his.

Then, with a pang on her stomach, she fell from the chandelier and into the ground below, crashing straight on her head and breaking her neck. With a relenting growl in her voice, she clumsily got back on her feet and snapped it back on place. Trembling through a shiver, Tira threw herself on the ground and roared with an inhuman tongue at the Heavens beyond the stone and damp. "Damn her, damn her, damn her, damn her, damn her, DAMN HER, DAMN HER, DAMN HER!" The object of her cursing shifted with every breath: Viola, Amy, Pyrrha, Cassandra, Sophitia, herself, herself... and her self. Sticking her thumb in the corner of her mouth, she pulled outwards, tracing a line of blood on the wall, feeling her flesh reunite and leaving her ominous beauty untarnished.

"Damn him, damn him, damn him, DAMN HIM!" She smashed repeatedly her head on the floor until she was too dizzy to know up from down. Her stomach burned with searing light; she tried smothering it with her arms, clutching and shrinking into foetal position With a voice that was neither hers, nor hers, she sobbed uncontrollably while all of her despaired in finding the reason. What was it that she, by this height in what she knew to be the endgame, truly wanted? Each of her selves wanted something different. One acted out of devotion, another out of vengeance, another out of boredom, and one more trying to reconcile all with her own voice, reflected from the inner walls of her mind and into an ear that never sleeps.

"I want all to be over" was the most basic, though truest of this self's desires. Reluctantly, she pulled her head out of her forceful embrace and arched backwards to look at the recipient by the corner. The hourglass filled with amber, hardly even shining in its brewed stillness, casted Tira's misshapen reflection back at her. The road of phantoms had been too far walked to call now for a halt. She would see it through to the end, whether she lives of dies.

And as sudden as a thunder, a cackling laughter birthed from her throat. "But I can never die!" She laughed on to the point of tears as she violently stretched into a planking position. Playfully looking at the hourglass, she squinted in ruinous amusement. Four hundred years worth of research, inherited from one alchemist to another across the generations, now in her possession to assure that all would in time reach its ultimate outcome. No more than a careless spray sufficed for her army, she herself did not need it, which left the vast of the amber liquid fully to the disposition of the final host.

The first plan: the long grooming of Pyrrha Alexandra as champion of the Cursed Sword ended in failure through Patroklos Alexander's meddling as the sword's antithesis. Tira then had terribly underestimated the bonds amongst kin. The second plan, originated as a contingency, was the creation of a homunculus from Raphael Sorel's slumbering body, eventually decimated by the Wolf of Two Shadows. She then had underestimated the prowess enabled by purpose. Tira could not afford to fail a third time; she had learned well from her failures and knew she would have to use the elements that led to the downfall of her two previous schemes to her advantage.

With the remains of Soul Edge in her possession – locked away in the greater depths of her lair, all resources were set to spring into dynamic, all but one: a fitting host to make Soul Edge truly deathless.

Once more, as an unwelcome intermission, her self wrestled her way back into brief dominance. Nibbling on her fingers from finally being aware of a week without ingesting anything, she walked out of her chamber and into the centre of the spider, a platform risen above a circle of deep black lifeless waters. Her other hand caressed her stomach with increasing intensity until it scratched, all over her abdomen, her crotch, her ribcage until she felt the warmth in its entirety coursing through her body. Her eyes saw only red all over the floor and walls of the lair, the torches and the shine on the water, gushing crimson from killing past and yet to be done. She looked up to the sky roof of a well into the world above and, one wisp or a breath at a time, she yielded to her, just enough to allow awareness.

With a youthful voice, she expressed her excitement through enthusiastic panting as she prepared to sing for her audience: her self.

"All these dreams, these screams

Of what can never be,

How I wish they'd come true.

And though, not all is how it seems,

I can so clearly see

Not all between us paints rue. "

Tira's voice, youthful in its surface, exhaled with childish glee.

"Don't blame the moon,

Don't hate the dark devils.

Fate is a whimsical bitch,

And death, a useless boon.

You and I, plenty ills

Got to make a sturdy stitch.

You were a child, no more.

Free of sin or guilt, no less.

No different than a little whore,

You were taken into their mess.

Nobody asked you,

Nobody guarded you.

The blackbirds claimed you,

The blackbirds maimed you.

Inside a ring they put you,

And from you, all good they took.

A steel ring now guides you,

Not like the mother who forsook.

The blackbirds raised me,

The blackbirds hazed me.

Out of me, they made a fiend

Out of you, a mute victim.

It was not your fault, not your fault

Not your fault, not your fault."

The cadence in her step began to break into a mangled step, hesitating and without a rhythm. Her feet took her on a circle around the platform, precariously close to the edge. Mindless now, she sang on.

"Hey, a dozen heroes I know

Whom leagues would cross,

To steadfast stand in row,

To kill me and not feel a loss.

From death I came, and into death you'll go.

I'm not afraid and I am not ashamed.

But even I can't save myself from being a foe:

For the death of you, I will be blamed.

Forgive me please, pretty please?

Cause that I cannot do for me."

Tearless, her voice shrunk into a whimper, almost inaudible.

"It was never your fault."


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44: Knocking on Hades' Door

Rights and rites of passage occasionally converge into one and the same, with progression into another stage only allowed through fire and blood. Such an event took place following several days of travel north towards the territory of Moscow, on a particularly sunny day as the head party of the Schwarzwind survivors entered south through the frontier of Konkovo. For, although they took measures to appear inconspicuous as they were to settle in wait for the next move, even a truly elaborate disguise fails to conceal the supernatural gushing from two of the best soldiers. By an abandoned farm, the four of them saw their welcoming party, carelessly mingling with the shadows of decay and neglect among vermin and dead wood. Siegfried counted seven men, Z.W.E.I. could smell two more sheltered within a barn, Viola could sense one more, soon to wake into the world within a week or so; all the while, Hilde readied her tongue to speak for their companions, and her muscles to resist their being outnumbered it the need arose.

It may be that these men had seen them from a greater distance still, for Z.W.E.I. quickly saw that five of them approached as the road to the farm became shorter. These were fellows of strength, possibly of war, as the shades shone into factions and frames, maybe brigands and outcasts. Soon, the look on one's eyes, half blind, had his muscles tense by anticipation. Viola herself was restless, for she knew they were far more intent on approaching her. Only a few meters away, a short stout man with handsome features and cold blond hair stared at her face concealed in shadow under her black dress' hood and a shawl. It was not her red eyes and silver hair what he was sniffing, that she knew. At that time, she could hardly be a conversationalist in Russian; someone else speaking for her may arouse trouble.

Hilde interjected before anyone could move. "Good day, friend." Her manner was amicable and her pronunciation flawless. "We are heading for Konkovo in search for work. Could you point us in the right direction?"

"Work?" The young man scoffed. "You may wanna try Vitebsk for that."

"We were thinking of heading into Moscow. My husband here and our workers can earn our bread well enough" Hilde pressed on without giving in to the man's attitude. "You too should go further in, I would say. Who knows if the summer will steal away?"

"You got livestock? He asked.

"No" Hilde responded.

"How are you going to make it in Moscow without livestock?" He mocked.

"We owned an apple orchard before the war seared the land." Hilde explained, hinting some remorse in her accent.

"Apples, I like them a lot." He spoke almost amicably to be sincere. "You know who else likes apples? All of us here! Boys, do you like apples?" He shouted. A collective chorus reigned over the four.

"They're lying." A taller man at his side said dryly.

"Yes, I know they're lying, Dmitry. I just wanted to see this exchange become amusing." He reprimanded with a voice that almost hinted at authority. As he turned his eyes back to the four Schwarzwind, his look became ruthlessly cold. Wheezing violently, his voice changed cruelly "Now I am wondering if he are going to let these pass on."

"We are only travellers, we don't carry anything of value on us." Hilde's voice became stern.

"Just travellers, you say?" His eyes slowly traced a line from one face to the next. "How do I know you're telling the truth after this blatant lie?"

"They're right. They came walking." Dmitry spoke as he had been on the lookout for a great distance from the farm. "Rodya, there's no way..."

"Yes, there is!" He shouted with a beastly whimper of fury at the end of his roar. "I don't like the look on them." He paused. "Especially her..." His eyes fixated on Viola as she hid her face still. Underneath the shawl that reached far past her elbows, she was holding steady on to Z.W.E.I.'s hand, not out of fear, but for him to remain calm. Though he had remained quiet and apparently at ease, his pulse growled otherwise. With a nigh imperceptible motion, she raised her head to look at him – his eyes were fierce, but void of lechery. "You, what is your name?"

"She doesn't have to say shit, you...!" Z.W.E.I. finally gave in to the sense of menace, but Viola's grip and Siegfried's arm commanded him to remain put.

"I asked her, not you, bandit." Rodya said.

"... Ksyusha" Viola answered, hoping it to be the only word she had to say.

"What do you do, 'Ksyusha'? Is this bandit something of yours? What is his name, then? What does he do? Can he help you put up an apple orchard to make pie, cider? To give to my son after his chores?" His array of questions increased in aggressiveness as he pressed on.

"He is my... husband. His name is Milan. He... " Viola found herself, surprisingly vulnerable to this card as she found herself at a loss for words. "He can ride... and... "

"Forget it!" Rodya interrupted. "'Milan', your 'wife', this girl 'Ksyu' doesn't know a thing! She doesn't know what you do for a living, which I know is not planting apples! You must be bandit, and she is your hostage, is she not? Or maybe... she herself is a criminal! Are you a criminal, Ksyusha?"

"Leave her alone!" Hilde lost the need to be courteous. "We are not farmers, we are not criminals, we only need to pass. We won't do any harm." She stepped forward. "It is important and we have no time for quarrelling."

"False names don't look good." Rodya cooled down. "You're up to something. What is it?"

"We can't tell you. It is important that we do it, else we'll all be doomed." Hilde spoke.

"I think she is sincere." Dmitry spoke gravely. Hilde looked in his eyes, hidden somewhere under a great red mane and a great red beard with gratitude. "If they were criminals, they would have put up a better lie for you. I don't see any weapons on them, either."

"Assassins can hide them well. You know this as well as I do, Dmitry." Rodya's voice changed into bitterness.

"Those clothes are not too shabby, but if they were assassins, they wouldn't have come here walking. They would have watched ahead and seen us, then." Dmitry insisted, as calm as Rodya was furious.

"I still don't like them. Something's not right with them." He conceded as far as his tone let on. "Damn it, Dmitry." His eyes went over each of them as he seemed to have calmed down. "You'll have to prove my friend right. Else you're assassins and we'll kill you right here and now. We cannot take the risk". Rodya stared at Z.W.E.I. "You, 'Milan', you'll vouch for your companions."

"That I will" He responded menacingly. Viola could feel the resolve in his pulse.

Rodya nodded as he stepped backward, along with his companions. He removed his gloves, his jacket and his shirt. "No gloves, no shirt. Hurry on, bandit. This will be trial by fists. Blows and grapples are allowed. You try running away or disabling my ability to make more children, you forfeit. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Z.W.E.I.'s voice loosened into a subtle enthusiasm as he began removing his gloves, his silver trimmed cape, a lupine-patterned dark coat and shirt. His head nodded in confidence and a smirk sunk his unease into a natural comfortable feeling. Viola looked at him from the side and placed her hand on his lower back, gently pushing him into the trial. Her eyes remained on his skin for longer than she expected herself to. Satisfaction from seeing the tattoo on his chest, completed into a full moon, and slight arousal surprised her in that instant, in such a perilous situation. Alas, she was not worried at all.

Z.W.E.I. stretched his arms and made quick bracing motions to warm himself up. His contender was shorter than him, but his physique for combat did not look any less impressive. Rodya's skin had no scars, unlike his contender, which hinted that he either had little war experience, or he was too skilled to be touched; the wolf looked forward to find out. Once they were both in a brawling stance, they waited for the sign to kill the ensuing the silence and spray the soil red; yet for someone so accustomed to talking with his fists in times of trouble, the pause before the fight went a few instants for longer than expected. Z.W.E.I. became somewhat uncomfortable at the awkwardness of the situation, though he would not let his eyes stray from his opponent. One of Rodya's companions sneezed quite suddenly, and the wolf found himself overtaken by the speed at which the man in front of him took it as a sign to start the bout.

Oliver was not taken on with a barrage of punches, which he could have easily endured under his guard, rather a alternating stings that soon felt like thunder on his kidneys. Rodya was not particularly quick, but his waist movements swinging left and right with each punch worked as stable as machinery; he had also taken advantage on the wolf's inability to synchronise his defence on each side to yield some space to his opponent by the means of a right uppercut which Z.W.E.I. did not see coming. Rodya had great confidence, more than enough to spare a chance for a second wind, or a third if needed be.

The Schwarzwind swordsman soon had trouble breathing out of his nose as his upper lip felt humid and sticky; the uppercut had more than brushed his nose, and thus impaired his performance on a long run in the fight. Rodya approached quickly and with cadence without quite engaging him, making for a daring tease and further chastisement on the wolf's pride. Z.W.E.I.'s forte, however, was not necessarily discarded, but it would be a matter of whether he would be able to make use of his craft. For the time being, he had to take the offence and he did so by lunging forward during one of Rodya's teases. This took him likewise by surprise as Z.W.E.I. was quicker than he anticipated, though he would rather inflict punishment of his upper sides rather than a more vulnerable abdomen, left unguarded. Rodya broke off the barrage by getting ever closer and grabbing his opponent, setting him up for knee strikes. The wolf took three on his upper region before being kicked on the side of his left knee, breaking his balance, and then staggered with a kick to the upper abdomen. Though his offence had not been successful, Rodya knew then he could no longer tease his opponent.

Rodya resumed his offence by attacking Z.W.E.I.'s legs in hopes of slowing his down, but Oliver would quickly take his front leg into the back and so forth until Rodya was forced to try something else. By a feint, he leaped right into Z.W.E.I.'s left shoulder to attempt locking his arm behind his back; in doing so, he took the wolf down face first into the grass and pulled the shoulder blade inward while punching the back of his head. With his eyes looking at Siegfried, Hilde and Viola, he confided that he was planning to amaze the audience, and indulged into showmanship by winking cheekily as the strength of his legs proved an asset in quickly lifting him up, along with Rodya's weight. The lock was loosened by the surprise and enabled him to make a recovery by swift punch with his right fist into Rodya's left temple.

His guard fumbling, nothing could stop Z.W.E.I. from seizing an open guard by quick jabbing and a seemingly unexpected kick on Rodya's shin, which tipped him forward, ripe for a chain around his neck in the form of the wolf's arm who kept the hold tight and steady. Rodya became desperate as he punched his kidneys once more to break off the hold before he ran out of air. Overpowering the hold proved unlikely, but his punched took a toll on Z.W.E.I., feeling his grip loosening. Before Rodya could escape, he broke the hold and quickly pushed him away, giving him enough room to dropkick him further away.

In spite of having little clean breath, Rodya lunged back like a wounded beast, uncontainable. His punches were clumsy, though powerful. When he got in close enough, he knocked the wolf back with a headbutt, expecting the fight to unveil on victory by attrition. However, Z.W.E.I. was well accustomed to such a tactic in combat, so his reaction was deliberately exaggerated, as Viola could tell. Feeling confident, Rodya lunged further in for the final blow, though an odd feet movement on his opponent's part took him by surprise for what initially seemed as dizziness and revealed itself a quick turn away from Rodya's fist, leaving him open to Z.W.E.I.'s backfist, and following along with the same momentum, a powerful haymaker that ended the brawl with the Schwarzwind's representative in the fray for rights of passage as victor.

Rodya did not stay down for long, but his intent was no longer the same when he stood before Z.W.E.I., eye to eye, hand in hand. The watchmen at the border looked on the scene with marvel at the duel and its outcome. Their suspicions were discarded in watching the wolf fighting for his innocence and that of his companions; furthermore, they recognised his unarmed style as something which only a Russian-born could have known.

"Good. I have no doubt in my mind" Rodya said in between bloody wheezing. "No one without a good reason fights this well. I don't care if its apple orchards or wet corpses, you lot bring no evil."

"No evil? Am I understanding this correctly?" Siegfried spoke suddenly "You watch this frontier for evildoers, and we simply came upon the executing of your craft?"

"That you did" Dmitry said. "There is evil intent and evil means further north. You don't hear much of it out in the open, but it is there, waiting. We do our part to cut their reinforcements."

"Interesting." Hilde added. "We are here for that very same reason. There is... something. We are on our way to clean this earth from it. Since we share a goal, why not come with us? You are strong and we all need each other's help to stand a chance."

"I am tempted to accept, but... my family. I can't drag them into the heart of the conflict." Rodya said. "However... ANNA!" A tiny boyish girl in a ragged farming attire ran towards them. "Anna, accompany this people north to the nearest town and then stay there with your father, you hear?" The girl nodded pugnaciously. "You, though. Your names aren't Milan and Ksyusha? Doesn't matter, keep them on for as long as you're here. They suit you." He took one last look at the four and smiled. "Away with you now. I must clean up to be on guard. Good luck with this you will be wanting to destroy. I get the feeling we will all need luck."

Thusly, the Schwarzwind party continued their journey north with little Anna guiding them into what would hopefully be a temporary base. Siegfried and Hilde were amused and satisfied with the day's outcome.

"Ksyusha." Z.W.E.I. called. "Milan, eh?" He asked cheekily. Viola did not respond and hardly felt how her expression fit her face. She reached forward and poked his swollen lower lip, her fingers felt somewhat allured to touching his face longer. She tried not to think about it, but her friend – comrade in arms, travelling partner and unexpected lover – needed a bath, for more than one reason.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45: Armistice

He always did like her, but then – on the night they met – he trusted his gut on her merely being a strangely affable travel companion. Surely enough, he had only helped her out of a situation that overwhelmed her, just like he would have done for anyone on the other side of Dumas' hired blades. 'A damsel in distress', such a night was not anything new to him; times have been when gratitude involved giving in to lust for that 'Wolf of Two Shadows', and though a few times men have offered such a gesture to him, the outcomes was always the same. "You keep a low profile now, yeah?" And so Z.W.E.I. would walk off into the night, lonesome, uninterested and always questioning himself. He had not always been a loner for he too had been a teenager once in a little town, but unlike most other sailors in the English Navy, he did not have one girl waiting on his arrival on any port. He was not bothered by it, as he started thinking himself an asexual man.

Little by little, two red eyes brought back the red in his blood. A jest on his fate it would have been if she had been unreachable, alas she was indeed unreachable – to all but him. And all on his mind was one word – 'how?'. It was not a matter of luck that governs the links between the hearts of the many, rather understanding whether it was resonance between two souls, calling one another through a language of magic. Or maybe it had only been as it was for everybody else.

Z.W.E.I. looked at Anna as she stirred the borscht. It seemed to him like an old memory being motioned back into existence. His sisters must have been around her age; whether helping around the pan, or in their father's workshop, they always stayed busy and left the still watching role to Oliver – the brother they assured would do them proud. Katya stirred the borscht on that evening, intensely in her desire to impress Luda, whom she wanted to her brother's bride. Z.W.E.I. – thinking of himself as Milan – wondered if Rodya's niece wanted to impress Viola – whom he struggled thinking of as Ksyusha – for she had been in her company for most of the travel from Konkovo towards Brezhnevsky. It was likely that young Anna was helping Viola on getting a tighter grip on the language, though he could see a peculiar kind of warmth in her when Anna was nearby.

Though her company was a balm, the girl would soon part ways with them, for the road past the Volga-Matushka towards Tira's stronghold would be theirs only to cross. Not long after arriving at their stop on Brezhnevsky, they were welcomed by a man whom the girl called 'Uncle'. By the look of it, he had expected her arrival in particular, though the wolf saw hardly any family resemblance between the two; mattered little, for they could have been father and daughter for anyone with half an eye. Anna would be safe, away from the frontier's resistance for incoming evil from outside the land, and away from the looming menace that awaited up north. Z.W.E.I., in spite of the sensible turn of events, felt a pang of melancholy in parting ways, despite not consciously knowing the reason.

"To hell with this" He said to himself, brushing the thought away. He placed his sights on the instrument on his hands. His fingers were just getting warm and accustomed to the strings until the triangular shape were no longer foreign to him. Note by note, his hands became confident and his rhythm quicker, though only weavings of sound, fragments of a song came to him. The mood for a song of his playing was not yet right, but the balalaika invited him to draw slivers, thoughts and colours from the people around him.

He looked at Siegfried and Hilde, talking over the map on a table. He had known of their union from their words by a hearth, but much else he learned from what he had been told, from wayward glances and past history never quite buried. How the one truer companion towards the leader was a woman called Salia Olschmidt, one of Schwarzwind's authorities operating from outside the Citadel; she was the one who had Hilde and the remains of the Wolfkrone army unite under Schtauffen's cause. That is what is known, what is considered as relevant. Viola herself had said to him that such a measure was of more than one motive. Salia would protect Siegfried, as she cared for his dying mother, by fortifying their numbers; he would protect her by marrying Hilde, for the two knew love would tear Salia and Siegfried apart.

The captain and his trusted swordsman were different people indeed. Z.W.E.I. could not conceive in him the will to resort to severing as a loving gesture. He could not read the hearts of his superiors, but his gut told him the damage would go on, silently and without a stir. It would become evident the longer they lived.

He thought about the fellows of Schwarzwind that did not make it into their party as they escaped the Citadel. Plenty had made their way on their own, but he knew – with pulsating memory behind eyelids – that many did die on that night when their fortress burned. Most of them, he knew; names, birthplaces, missions of their own that never saw completion. He knew not whether Viola could read that in him, but every single one of the fallen rounded him in moments of solitude and silence. Even now, the strings of the balalaika carry a little elegy, despite him discarding their thought for a song to the moment.

Yes, that is what he aimed for. Writing a song, but whom to sing it to or when were questions to which he found no suitable answer – not that such uncertainty would make his fingers timid or his mind any less resolute. He figured it could not be a love song to Viola, for her grasp in the language progressed steadfast though still impeded her from speaking naturally. However, he could not disregard the thought: if she, in spite of conjuring the melody and words from a time and author unknown, sang to him – loving and intimate – he too would treat her into a song of his own, someday.

Anna will no longer be with them by the time he gets to sing this 'song for the moment'. Farewells said, the Schwarzwind entourage parted ways with their guide and looked further up north toward Saint Basil's Cathedral. Through Rodya's connections, extending from the border towards the heart of the land, a particularly small circle in the merchant district, Kitay-gorod would offer accommodation for some time until a new stage in the mingling is crafted. By Siegfried Schtauffen's design, the party may be able to secure a more permanent residence in the bustling alleyways of The Great Possad, after which, communication with Isabella Valentine would be engaged, facilitated by the birthing chaos of a clash with the Polish forces. Thus, they carried on down the road, but the wolf's thoughts remained still a mist of figment.

He concluded that, in the midst of a war he chose to fight on behalf of gratitude, the least he expected was to return to his homeland after many years – most of his life. For his family scattered across the continent, he did not feel that Ivan's Empire offered any semblance of what home could have been. Though social and political ordeal guided his actions through most of his days, it would still make him feel a prodigal son returning to no father's land. Bringing a bride-of-sorts along with him felt an utter jest of futility. The one link he had with this place came through the musical instrument he still held, albeit without being aware of it. That, and spiced brandy, which may in turn bring back fondness through reminiscing.

"It may suit her better than that grain liquor back at Kyiv." He thought. There was little to be gained from drinking on his own.

"You look pensive." Viola told him after two hours in travelling silence. "I will not look if you do not want me to."

"That's alright." He conceded.

All of his life, he had walked with a destination that could not be described as a place. During his role in Transylvania's revolution, his superiors and comrades would observe this unquenchable wanderlust and offered their own insight on this which he pursued. This, which truly made him their comrade, was his ongoing struggle for the fulfilment of a cause. They said it to be a neverending path, for there would always be injustice in the world. But through this dominance, there would also always be a need for people him – those to right the wrongs. The destination is not a place, but a conviction, and it all started here in the Russian Empire – with a thought in his youth... and something which he could not quite put a finger on. His father, his mother, his sisters...

"Viola" He spoke. "Could you 'see' me?"

The seer hesitated to answer. "I 'saw' you, yes."

"I see" He said dryly. He took her hand in his and closed his fingers around her paleness. He sensed her dread on what awaited on their destination; alas, he was not afraid.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46: The Turning of the Cogs

The reflection of stars on the dark waters of the Danube was his first sight in what he felt a long time since death, if arrows could bring him such a state. There comes a time – under the cloak of unnaturally heightened senses – when every sight, sound and smell carries so overwhelmingly much more than mere sensations and meanings, but history as well. He hardly needed his presence noticed at that moment, for he was comfortable enough under the guise of the static, as he read the abstract of the dark waters at night. His memories were vivid on the onslaught taken place at the Citadel. The truth was that he had come to an arrangement with Siegfried Schtauffen on an indulgence out of the fray. On that afternoon, he had cleaned himself up and put up the most presentable face he could for a meeting with his daughter's half-sister, whose existence he never knew about, and the man who defeated the homunculus made from Raphael Sorel's slumbering flesh, after which, he would bid his better wishes for whatever may come, take his daughter and leave forevermore.

Such an announcement had taken Schwarzwind's leader as a surprise, for Raphael had particular reason to stay and see the ordeal through to its end. A great crime had been committed against who he held the dearest and himself, and his combat skills would prove fearsome to deliver a final strike at Tira. And though, he knew this all too well, he truly wanted part of it no more. In another time, Siegfried would have jeered and dared him as a tactic to sway his choice; now, he only nodded silently as he resigned to acknowledgement. The Sorel family had suffered too much. Like a mindless jest he found no amusement in, this opportunity to give Amy a life of long-deserved peace was taken from him.

And she, his beloved Amy sat by him with the reins of the horses in hand, trekking slow paced towards a destination unknown. She wore rags as means for a coat, for cold was the night; her shoulders must have been buried somewhere underneath the mess of clothing, and he could tell enough apart from red stray curls of hair reaching out of her shadowy outline. There was no chill in the air they could feel; this could was something else.

Raphael, still quiet, noticed a sight of the boxes on her lap, idle and dark. From the left corner of his mouth, a soundless smirk produced in face of the irony. From one thought to another, he looked at himself in his current state – a broken man, meek and cowardly; the contrast to whom she knew her father to be was a pang of regret merciless at his gut. He felt no shame in admitting that he become weary of the struggle, and the means which he sought to possess to achieve his goal no longer seemed a risk worth taking, when he could still lose much more. Sadness dryly welled up in his eyes as he came to a realisation: the reason for his failures.

He had been too proud, too arrogant, too blind to see where his role truly lay. Alas, all would be well now, for someone else was at the reins; one who saw the world with different eyes – younger eyes. Whether his part to play were to be that of the swordsman, or one whose left fire and blood behind, he would follow without a question. However, from what he could piece so far, he would be the former and if time were not an ally of theirs, he would need to regain his strength and his pride soon enough. Come daylight, he would talk to her; break the wall of silence he had built.

The last his eyes saw before falling back asleep were the stars above, and a hawk flying west.

Sleep had long been a foreigner to her, especially the last few weeks. Words have been coming in and going out like a river, seemingly without a moment to cease. Isabella Valentine was exhausted, but pleased in her findings, and encouraged through the communication traffic from the remainders of Schwarzwind. Though positively crippled in numbers, the strongest cards remained still. In light of this, her research on what material she owned on the arcane and the supernatural would need be hastened; anything to possibly counter Tira's still unknown weapons. According to the last message, the remaining Schwarzwind survivors would seek audience in short weeks to come, by which time, each party would leave Prague with a new asset to aid their final stand against Soul Edge.

Each had already a rough idea of the strategy to adopt. One outpost, discreet and concealed to avoid sudden lashes, on each of four directions surrounding Tira's stronghold in Ingria, by the Neva River, where an unnaturally large host of blackbirds settled weeks prior to the Citadel's fall. When the necessary resources were at their disposition, all would strike in as phalanxes closing into a fist, unforgiving and unwavering. A cynical person such as her may have been sceptical on whatever strength individuals could breathe into strategy, but for all she has seen in a life as long as hers, she found no more room for prejudice. The new champion for the spirit sword, groomed in the pursuit of the cause ignited her hope. A host of warriors from the East, from the very beginning of the ordeal surrounding the sword and generations anew, ignited her curiosity. Two children begotten by night and the mystic ignited her marvel. One single man's commitment, drawn forth by redemption and matured into the cause of a lifetime ignited her faith. And all forces, although different, came to her.

Her entire life had been devoted to the destruction of the cursed sword and to nothing and nobody else. Was she not allowed a moment of delight and pride? One gleeful child-like breath in seeing a dream to come true? Indeed, that much she had earned. She had never been one to accede to her many suitors, she took no husband and had no child, for she had been sincere and benevolent. She dared not be an unfaithful wife, nor a distant mother, for long before her body and face were ripe for the beholders of beauty, she had already been betrothed to her cause. And now, through hope, it embraced and kissed her.

Her mother weaved, her father painted. Grace and charity had been the spiritual brand of the Valentines since days of old. Now, more than she had experienced in direct battling of evil, she felt the grace in her role as one theory begat a dozen more. Possibilities fed upon one another, a myriad of masques for the enemy, each with a vulnerability, a crumbling centre. Book upon book, she danced in the art of the science, alchemy and metaphysical. With the coming storm from the East, Prague shivers from the chill of rain; thusly, a phenomenon of nature reminded her of something that always remained present in thought. On the final message arrived, Thunderbird would ride.

She had changed indeed, alas a familiar sound of laughter echoed through the hallways and pillars inside Valentine Mansion. In time, her sword too would sing under the Russian winds.

Hours stranded between worlds of awake and asleep became black days of no meaning. When the iron tongue tolled into weeks, significance poured back in. A month called forth a tempest for the dormant Moon and the Wolf that howled wounded to return to vigour. In the frontier, their roles were cast and the way marked a time to hone. Guided under two experienced souls, Z.W.E.I. and Viola marched into a fateful visage. Strangers, kindred spirits, travelling companions, comrades, friends, lovers; on the night they finally arrived at the heart of Moscow, they walked with arms intertwined.

Siegfried and Hilde walked several metres behind and could not tell what was on their minds, but they knew well that it was greatly distant from the conflict. Under the snowy mist, two shadowy figures walking slowly through the white looked no different than a boy and a girl taking pleasure in each other's company. Just like features of buildings blurred under the Slavic blanketing, their story, their past and their duty disappeared for the moment of one slowing stroll before reaching their destination. Particularly amusing as how they initially walked together as a means to stave off the cold, and as the pace got longer, Z.W.E.I. took on a cadence; a rooster of a young man, enthused by the prospect of a leisurely walk with the object of his affection. Seemed not unlikely of him, and neither of her as she remained indifferent about it, until she conceded in her very own fashion by laying her head on his shoulder as they walked and awkwardly pulling away in embarrassment. Truly she was not accustomed to being seen in joy.

For one night, snow fell on soil, grass and stone as an elegy, a beautiful song to mourn the youth that war had taken from those two, the very same that would be taken from their very own children if the efforts of their swords were to relent and fail. The offspring of Siegfried Schtauffen and Hildegard von Wolfkrone's fate and that of generations to come lay on their shoulders. No man or woman should have such a burden to carry, but the logic of this world's laws scarcely overlap with that which man instinctively holds as correct, just and right. They did not seem to complain about it.

Soon, their pace stopped to a halt as 'Ksyusha' and 'Milan' beheld light in the distance: a flame bursting wider in the midst of snow and furious voices. Seemingly without a second thought, they broke the placidity of their stroll together and hurried on forward. Something had taken place in The Great Possad.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47: The Sweat on Our Brow

She knew better than they did.

Z.W.E.I. hurried on towards the fire, with Viola close behind, and Siegfried and Hilde soon to catch up. The parents of Lyra and Hugo were driven by a disposition to put out the flames, but the Wolf of Two Shadows and Two Names had a fitting reason to approach quicker: he smelled blood and fear. However, without a weapon, his only effective combat means amounted to summoning E.I.N., which considering their plan on mingling along with the Russian peoples, seemed quite immediately a foolish charge onwards. Before directly intervening, Viola opted to observe the situation; unfortunately, it became evident too soon to leave Oliver standing on his own.

The eye of her higher perception painted an atrocious picture in horrendous hues. Violence and abuse, and hope strangled out of the agonising breaths of several households on this particular street. The crisis of the Poles would only become fiercer and time went by, and the victims would suffer an even greater deal with the two vanguards colliding in a spectacle fitting for the gushing eyes of the Devil. Even if this proved relatively milder, it made the gruesome image not any less forgiving. Viola would not be at ease if she did not aid these families, resisting the assault of a posse of deserters from the opposing army, out for gold easily snatched, blood easily shed, flesh easily taken.

Both Siegfried and Hilde were quick to react having seen the situation at hand. Each made deadly weapons out of a rake and a hearth poker that lay on an open workshop nearby. Z.W.E.I. did not summon E.I.N., nor did he seek anything that could be used as a weapon; instead, he rushed in and tackled the first rogue in sight, away from a helpless man whose build hardly looked useful for anything other than preaching. As for Viola herself, she was not yet confident in her close quarters adeptness, nor was she a passable swordswoman; so she opted for improvisation – a blend of tactics – her natural talent and resourcefulness translated into a butcher's knife wielded closely in her grasp, though led by her telekinetic abilities. One instant, a Polish rogue raided the contents of a closed store, he soon would know only to have a knife stuck under his shoulder, hurled at a devilish speed. The element of surprise aided their attack, but the Schwarzwind's assistance would soon encounter difficulties.

Even in the battle at Dumas' castle, Z.W.E.I. never saw his captain bleed. The sight of Siegfried Schtauffen's body contorted by the momentum of a blow or a slash from the unholy depths of the smoke staggered the young wolf; his reaction at it surprised him. Leaping over the motionless body of the Captain, he punched blindly into the grey as a leap of faith into retribution. His fists found a temple that cracked under a berserker's knuckles with pleasant force of consequence. As his foe fell to the ground, he lunged forward to snuff the life out of him.

"Viola!" He yelled, his voice breaking from rage barely contained. "Get out here!" He could not see her amongst the smoke, nor was Hilde in close sight. As far as he was concerned, compromising the life of their leader could impair the success of their mission, their last tactic. A piece of his mind thundered above all else on taking the most practical route, but he could not know whether retreating were the more sensible option or seeing the bloodshed through to the end, and the consequences once the smoke had receded. In either case, unarmed his vulnerabilities were open to strike, but Viola could seize the commotion and run away. As several ropes fastened to his neck from behind, it dawned on him.

She would not be one to do that, and his decision had been ultimately flawed. He should have sought out the shapes of the remaining companions and escape for a quieter location, one in which regrouping would take place, and new interim leadership be granted, most likely on Hildegard von Wolfkrone. The mission would then go on; but so did the fight as Hilde battled on to stave off Z.W.E.I.'s attackers, and Viola made good use of the low visibility to use her powers freely. Once, he was back on his feet, he too counterattacked with his own brand of brutality. He took hold of a set of daggers from the lifeless strangled body of a rogue and hacked away.

They soon found themselves surrounded, but the advantage was only apparent and fleeting, for encircled the three dispatched every foe on perimeter with no shorter a carnage than the pack of rogues had unleashed on the street just moments before their arrival. After the screams of the casualties had died down, only the distressed voices remained, those of the shopkeepers and the families calling for help. Ashes rained down, and a solitary coughing crept from underneath the dusty piling.

"Medic! Medic!" A man called.

Viola was quick to find him in what remained of the mayhem. She looked at him, though their eyes could not meet amongst the grey and black of air. She did not know what exactly was that she saw on the other end; scenes manifested into abstractions of past or future: present howled forth through the sound of thunder and the smoke slowly dispelling from sight. She saw an odd yellow glint in his eyes, and yet another on hers, reflected on turquoise.

By dawn, he was on his feet anew, though his balance was severely stunted. His wife and his soldiers were there to hold him were he to fall. He knew the support was a response of duty and kindness and such he thanked, but knew quite well that his strength had not left him. He was one of the fortunate that were treated the preceding night. Some had lost their lives through blood loss, others would never walk again, an ill-fated few remained still in the rooms walking a tight rope between life and death. Tears and worry would be a waste on him. Siegfried Schtauffen knew quite well of relentless warriors and skilled swordsmen that had lost one eye even before their time of prime and fame. With a discreet smile, he traced the newest scar on his face, cut in the middle by an improvised eyepatch made from cloth and leather.

Hilde had been the only one of the four who had stood the fray with no significant wounds. Z.W.E.I.'s body had been clubbed enough while he was on the ground, with his throat tightened into deadly intention by three ropes seeking to end his life in the same manner he himself had took of one of their comrades. Viola had received a punt on the side of her head, of which she did not notice any trace until she felt something warm and sticky falling off the side of her shoulder from her white neck; strings of blood concealed under the silver of her hair.

It had been a carnage, quite unheard of by what had been spoken in the medic's quarters all throughout the night. To Siegfried and his comrades, it was a lesser fray in comparison to what they had lived before, alas seemed particularly strange. The induction into partaking of the violence triggered almost immediately after plunging into the smoke, quite foreign to the first intention of the nocturnal pair. Nobody could take a hold of their drive, other than bound in the realm of thought, not even one such as Viola.

One thing was clear. Had they not stepped in, the rogues would have taken the lives on the entire street, in the most gruesome condemnable ways conceivable by man. Those men, wherever they hailed from, were far more distant from human nature than their own homeland. However, Viola thought, could it be rather that they had succumbed fully to human nature, unconstrained by tradition? The images that flashed and flickered through her mind, even when closing her eyes, spoke loud for it. What had happened in here has taken place before on myriad other places, and may continue well beyond their control or their intent. Rare have been the occasions she has feared for the future – if blood were to be shed as fulfilment of a future canon, then the briefness of one lifetime would be nothing short of a blessing.

As they made their way out of the clinic, the street gave a surprisingly peaceful look. The source of the fire had been a warehouse, but the consequences would not be feel other than in scarce supplies for a hard month to draw near. Yet, this could prove an advantageous situation for them; in light of a dent in goods for subsistence, manpower may be needed in compensation. Though unpaid, they would make their ends meet if able to secure lodgings. As Siegfried had thought on planning, they each had a set of skills to make them employable in the city; be it sheer strength for manual work or able fingers for craftsmanship. Furthermore, life under the yoke of war had forced diligence into their lives and ways. If they were not particularly accustomed to earning their bread from the sweat of their brow, they certainly balanced the scale by earning their survival on their courage and aptitude. Live to die another day would become work to eat another day; a more righteous way to live, he could simply not conceive.

In contrast to Siegfried's uncanny confidence and uneven pace, Viola walked steadily – almost rigid – as she felt the pressure of eyes on them. She took ahold of Z.W.E.I.'s arm and braced her shawl tighter around her head and visage, as if appearing to be a timid bride. Even considering her vocabulary and pronunciation were considerably improved, her sole appearance would quickly give the weaving of her nature away. The East looked attentively on what the rest of the continent had chosen to dismiss. Her line of work would have done her blessings had they settled further up north, closer to the sea where both the Moon and her Wolf felt the breeze to favour their path. Alas, her talent for the plan would rely on her reading and writing, honed far above that of her comrades.

She frowned as she quickly thought of the most viable option: a governess. She had trusted the circumstances to keep her out of the necessity for prostitution, but the alternative of looking after children was only slightly better. Lending merit to what they said, Z.W.E.I. had been a patient teacher, far more than she thought herself to be, if the situation called for it; being patient to children was a test she did not think herself fit for.

It was one presence that had extracted her thought from the inward realm and out into open awareness. Her companion had felt it too, so she could feel by a sudden stiffness as they walked. With her right hand, she pulled on Siegfried's sleeve not unlike a child. As they turned around, they saw him. A man who would rather belong in tales of Jutland or the ancient sons and daughters of Perun. His body was a titan of a frame, towering and a bulwark of a man; his attire was no different than anything they had seen from the locals, which opposed an unnerving dissonance. He was one to wield axe and broadsword, not rake and hoe.

"Hoy. May I have a word with you?" He called with a cavernous voice, almost a growl with a sharp break at the end of his inflexion, hinting aged vocal chords and a birthing cough. His beard was close cropped around his jaw, moving at every step forward he took. With pale blue eyes on a face as leather, looking almost ageless, he lent attention on every one of the Schwarzwind host. Z.W.E.I. could not see the spark of hostility in his eyes, unmistakable, but his words could pose a great importance in their plan; quite possibly, their first obstacle.

"Yes, Sir. How may we help you?" Siegfried greeted.

"My name is Pyotr Solzhenitsyn" His white moustache moved with his upper lip, it seemed; as did a horizontal black line on his neck with a fleshy unpleasant motion at every movement of his throat. He had the look of a farmer with balding head swept back from the work sweat of seasons, though all else about him told a different story. "I saw what you did."

"We need to talk." He said with a hammer of a sound that sent an unwilling and embarrassing shiver down the backs of Oliver and Viola

There was no refusing him.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48: To Welcome the Winter

Pyotr Solzhenitsyn was a man of history. He had seen zeniths and depths measured through falls and rises, always with a bloody river between moments branded by parchment and ink. These were the dates the historian and scholar would talk about, but not what interested him; little he cared for deals settled behind closed doors, under the soft light of candles. What he knew and could tell was the wisdom achieved through war and famine – as far as his face and hands could evidence. But there was much more to a behemoth of a man, as Siegfried Schtauffen and his party came to learn during the first weeks of residence on Kitay-gorod, the merchant street by the Kremlin.

The daily routine under Solzhenitsyn's roof was not a far distance from life as a soldier, though there was still something peculiarly refreshing about it. Before dawn, the silence of a dark veil of sky would find them making beds and awaiting turns for a bucket of water heated by the old samovar in the cabin by his warehouse. Only at such hours of mist and gloom did the Schwarzwind Captain struggle with his stunted visibility, rarely able to find his bearings quick enough to be the first to wash himself. Hildegard von Wolfkrone usually found herself the first to greet the dawning air whistling and brushing on the West side of Solzhenitsyn's property where his workshop, store and a humble garden lay in wait for the hours of commerce and service. In spite of the once-Princess early diligence, it was always Z.W.E.I. who went into their benefactor's house for bread, vegetables and salted meat bought on the previous day; it was also he who cooked and served the first meal. As for Viola, she was always the last to rise, thus revealing her habit as a sound sleeper and one reluctant to awake. Out of three beds in the cabin, the Wolf and the Moon shared one, for better and for worse.

From the moment they went out into their daily work, a seemingly stray gaze out into the skies awaited the coming of a hawk. If none came, their lives as long-walked immigrants carried on to the next day; if one indeed came, nothing changed, for such was the way of blending in. Pyotr may have seen their intentions several weeks prior, when their wounds were still freshly treated and the boy's face had not a hair on it.

"I saw what you did" His voice seemed stern. "We need to talk" His phrasing lent no rest for them as they expected trouble to come their way. The silence that followed lay pressure on their nerves in wait for predictable menacing words, or sudden movements. "Thank you, for all" The man said as he held out his hand in too formal a demeanour for a Russian. "You lot saved my sister and her children."

"I-I, we" Siegfried found himself at a loss for words, for their doing had never before received a spoken reply. "We did what he thought best. I am glad your relatives benefitted from it."

"Sir, you do not need to thank us." Hilde intervened. "It is the least one can do. I must ask you still, what happened? Why did those men raid the street?"

"Poles, who knows." The man said. "They have been coming and going, spoiling and sacking, but never this bad. It is odd, but even odder that foreigners would be so quick to lend a hand." Quickly enough, the man acknowledged their most immediate position. "What brings you to this land?"

"War" Z.W.E.I. said quickly, earning the alarmed gaze of his companions. "The land on the West sears and work runs thinner every day. "We came in search of work." As the young swordsman said this, Pyotr paid a longer look at him, almost as if digging beneath the surface for something he knew would be there; his expression hinted at a pleased success.

"Well, work we have here." The man addressed all. "Because of what happened here, lots of it. I hear a blessed handful of my neighbours perished in the fire and by the sword. You could walk down the street or the ones behind it and you would find something very quick. Enough needed to be done before this unholy mess came about." He paused. "Or you could allow me to pay a debt I feel in my heart must be paid, and give you work, some of my food and spare beds."

The offer sounded ideal, but they could not take it while blinded by the light. "That's a very generous offer, good man" Siegfried said. "But we must know if we can be of use to you, and we don't want our force to misused. What do you do, Pyotr?"

"I do nothing anymore. My stores and garden have passed on to my sons, I still care for the old smithy but that one doesn't get many interested faces. You three look capable for that and more, but winter is coming and you don't want to take risks in a wounded district." Viola quickly, though unconsciously, acknowledged her being set apart from Hilde, Siegfried and Z.W.E.I. in terms of capability. She raised her head quickly to meet his eyes as an instinctive gesture of protest, which was met instantly by the man's speech. "You, girl. What can you put on the table?"

"I write." Viola said bluntly.

Pyotr squinted as his eyes changed to the three, remained for a moment, and hovered backward to her. "What is your relation to them?"

"They are my superiors. I am their accountant." Viola said awkwardly. She was begrudgingly convinced he had taken note of it. The pale moon felt a knot in her stomach tightening from the stability of the mission relying on her, as well as a peculiar reluctance to avoid the man's attention.

"He too?" He asked.

"No." She answered.

"Are you two married?" He asked then in German, much to everyone's surprise. Having taken note of their reaction as well, he remarked with some amusement to his otherwise stern demeanour. "Your accountant can't speak Russian without pissing all over my Mother's grave." He smiled. "Is this fine young man your husband?"

"No." Viola avoided Z.W.E.I.'s eyes. "We are betrothed." From her shawl, she could not see the reaction of her companions, but if there was one, they concealed it well.

"Good enough for me." Pyotr said. "This girl is not a fool. My grandchildren must not be either." With a more amiable look about his face, she carried on. "Young marriages can be a problem if children are on their way, especially at this moment. You allow this girl to teach outer tongues to my children's children for as long as you are here, and you can stay until spring if you want. I won't care if you will have a new one on the way."

Viola gritted her teeth as she heard their leader agreeing to the offer. Although, this phase of their mission had gone smoothly, she could not see herself instructing children on the rest of the continent without a blood vessel beating furiously under her skin. As the man led them into his property, she stared at him – looking into his soul and his history – finding only a deep relation to his land, from battles fought for it and trust earned in diligence towards many of its inhabitants, hence his inheritance of several humble stores. The weary soldier had seen a myriad sleepless nights on barely being able to make ends meet in keeping his family well fed. How was he then to house four more now? The answer came about quite immediately.

The same way he had for all those years prior. For him, no burden would be too heavy to carry for the land that saw him and his kin rise. His gesture was not for them, but for his Motherland. Viola's mind leaped for an instant into what was to come. The heart of thought of this man would be reprised by many, with dire consequences.

As the weeks passed, the burden on Pyotr Solzhenitsyn's shoulders would prove lighter than one he expected to carry. Siegfried's party was not one to take advantage of one man's generosity by working underwhelmingly. The tidings for the man's gesture were first evident eight days later when news came from his son's goods supplier that a hefty demand for foods and farming hardware was looming with a far shadow on his back. The order, however, was expected to be delivered shortly after the next reaping, with a handsome amount paid for in advance. With the arrival of such news, the foursome found themselves treated to a far lighter-hearted disposition from Pyotr than they could have believed on their first encounter; rosier a hue than a maiden's bashfulness they saw on him, even Viola smirked.

This sudden fruitful demand, unsuspected on being attributed to a furtive hawk sent east by Viola on their first night, called not only for a modest portion of Solzhenytsin's goods to be put apart from sales to the people on the Great Possad, but also for rekindling the fire on the workshop; tool-making was a job Siegfried showed aptitude in, as forger of his own weapons, thus his aid be received with unabashed gratitude. Hilde, on her daily and somewhat ironic walk to the apple orchard, paid long prying looks at the skies for more Schwarzwind hawks; within two weeks, she received further word from Solzhenytsin's customer – Salia Olschmidt, comrade in arms - with news from the Finnish frontier, that Stephen and her children were safe and secure. Following the overwhelming tide of relief, she would further push the synergy between the Schwarzwind's outposts for the long winter to come be received in warm households, serene expectance for the signal to march.

In the mean time, Z.W.E.I., called Milan among his peers for their time being in the land, cursed his superiors on Viola and he being the ones to take on new names and struggled not to utter a different name. As his gaze remained on the soil and his ears awake for any call on any duty needing his hands, he thought little could be done if Siegfried and Hilde had introduced themselves as such without much thought. There was no point on risking the confidence of their host if they had bothered to correct their names. He wondered still, why Viola seemed to take such pleasure – evident to none but him – in calling him such. Milan – one who is loved. "She always has a reason for everything" He thought. The name she had taken for herself was fitting for the circumstance given. 'Ksyusha' come from 'Kseniya' – one who is a guest. His mild irritation gave way on thinking of her calling him, almost teasingly, for her last moment of comfort for the night, before shrinking into her small portion of the bed they were given to share.

"Spokoynoy nochy, sladky Milan" A phrase she had practiced well enough.

The sun set, with the heat of orange cooling into cobalt of night. The stars, one by one, made their appearance as he walked back into the cabin. He saw nobody at crossing the door. Where Siegfried and Hilde usually sat, only dead candles remained, all but one under the humble windowpane; the place was not empty. He knew her silhouette quite well, even in shadows; she was dressed in a manner he had not seen her wearing in a considerable while. He smirked and approached, dropping his leather pouches and undoing the knot of his scarf.

"This one I got from a friend. He used to court my wife before she and I tied the knot." Pyotr spoke lively as he placed the flute close to his weathered lips. Clumsily he played a tune that would have hinted at skill and habit on an earlier time, before or during the war. "How can one be jealous when playing such a pretty thing?" He laughed heartily while Siegfried poured more wine into his wife's cup.

"Hilde. Why don't you play that one song from the old kingdom?" He suggested.

"What? It has been such a long time." She chuckled. "I don't know if I remember it anymore." She accepted the invitation, receiving the flute from Pyotr's hand.

"Ha! Loud please, I can almost hear those two in the cabin out there!" Pyotr said with a youthful demeanour as he drank and listened, and enjoyed the company of friends.

Drenched in sweat and sore, both Z.W.E.I. and Viola lay on the floor. She had not said a word beforehand on what she planned, and counted on Hilde's sober nature to be understanding. As she shook her breeches from her skin, she quietly lamented that she may have to wait for another chance to have the cabin to themselves. Yet it had already been late by the time, both would be finished with their work for the day. Pyotr's grandchildren had not been nearly as heavy a burden as she had imagined. Indeed, the boys and girls running and casting pebbles on Venice were naught like those living in wait for the winter to come. They had not tested her patience, nor had they done further mischief than playing with her hair as she read to them. Quicker than they, she grew bored of the lines and opted to teach them to paint. If the next dawn was generous, teaching under the sky and on the grass would be a delight.

She then would need to be limber and she had not exercised in a considerable while. Harsh as it was, the Schwarzwind way of training often soothed her unrest. Like always, he had been stiffer still.

Alone in the cabin, lying on the wooden boards, she poured her eyes on his face. In time, he would grow a proper beard, a thought which she found somewhat amusing. On his exhausted idleness she wondered how were they to wash themselves before dragging towards the bed before the next day caught them sluggish from sleep lacking. She could not care enough as wordless thoughts rushed through her head and soon her body. Every limb, nerve and pore shivered in agreement. She knew it was but a matter of time, for having accepted her own humanity meant accepting the gradual ignition of hungers and desires.

He agreed as well, that much was clear as he felt his hand closing in on her waist; opening his eyes and not looking, rather beholding. The beauty and the beast in harmony for an intention that ached to be; he reckoned the two had a bit of each within.

This was not yet a proper welcome for the seasons of blizzards, but that would not be a problem for long if they read their gazes as diligently as they had observed the skies above.


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49: In the Air

One precious hour with little to do but take pleasure from idleness like balm on aching limbs, such is one of the simplest and purest joys for the life of a working man, paling only when next to the warmth about the guts and the taste of wine and borscht at the end of the day, with a pillow waiting as a christening for the following day. Dark green powder lingered in the strands of a thick blond beard as Siegfried passed the snuff box to a young wolf whose black hair had been thickening on his face.

"Pyotr will be asking to have a word with you and I, later on" Siegfried squinted before the morning shine. "Be available"

"I'd bet it'd be about the fish oil we're running out of, but I shouldn't be too sure of it." Z.W.E.I. poured snuff on his thumbnail and pressed it against his nostril. With a quick wheeze, he inhaled the tobacco and blinked effusively. "I take it you're somewhat aware of what he might want to talk about."

"I am" Siegfried replied confidently.

"We failed, didn't we?" Z.W.E.I. asked.

"Correspondence like ours... " The captain turned to look at the young swordsman. "You can't crowd the skies over a patch of land and not expect your benefactor to remain oblivious. It is a risk we have been taking – all of us." His voice was serene unlike his words. "Every outpost of ours has been engaging in the same dynamic, aware that the fall of one meant the failure of all. No, we have not failed. We remain hidden from outer attention. It is only Pyotr who may need to hear from us."

"What are we to tell him?" Z.W.E.I. turned with stern attention.

"The truth" Silence ensued following Siegfried's decision. "You don't think it wise."

"I don't, Captain." He admitted. Biting his lip for an instant to perish hesitant words, he scratched his head in doubt. "I am not sure what good could come out of it. If we keep to the hermetic, we may taking a lesser risk than trusting the good will to murmur beyond walls."

"That was rather poetical. It was long time Viola's manner rubbed on you."

"Can you say that I am wrong, though?"

"No, I cannot" Siegfried looked into his eyes. "But a line has been crossed. Pyotr knows something, as the rest of Schwarzwind's landlords may already know as well; at this point, we need to know one thing only."

"I don't like where this is going." Z.W.E.I. felt a pit at the bottom of his stomach. "We've no choice, then. It's all about cooperation, then? Fine, I'll tell Viola and Lady von Wolfkrone"

"I already did. They will be attending this 'chat' with us." Siegfried stuffed the snuffbox into his pocket.

"No work is getting done today" Z.W.E.I. reproached.

As he watched the wolf walk away, back into the cabin, Siegfried's fingers caressed tightly onto the surface of the little copper box. The weight in the pocket of his coat had decreased considerably, though the problem of a tobacco ration was puny next to what weighed heavy on his head. Second after second, he calculated the strength of his grip to hold it as tight as he could without denting it; such was his physical analogy as response to the situation at hand. Pyotr Solzhenitsyn had seemingly come to consider Siegfried and his party as friends, and the captain himself had stepped in beyond the threshold of the sacred law of hospitality, close enough to regard him likewise. Thus, the position had become delicate, fragile and unbending into a duality of black and white. Nothing mattered but the success of a mission greater than his own life and that of his comrades, that of Pyotr and that of the youngest of his grandchildren. Nevertheless, facing the weight of myriad lives against a fistful seemed an unjust balance, as did the possibility of being forced to dismiss Pyotr were he to oppose cooperation in maintaining their lodging discreet to the outer eye. The deed would be his only to carry on if the outcome were unfavourable, and peace of mind – sleep and image of himself - nevermore. Thus, Siegfried Schtauffen debated on whether he had the right to be deserving of his history in such a case, to continue being a man gifted with a name and a soul.

Such was the duel taxing on his heart. The ultimate sacrifice, committing the unforgivable sin of betraying the host and guest timeless pact by profane bloodshed. Was it worth it? To be received among the likes of Ixion to ensure the fall of the Cursed Sword. The answer frightened him.

He wordlessly prayed for Pyotr to concede cooperation, lest all be lost. Then, Siegfried Schtauffen would have no right be any longer.

"That could have gone better" Z.W.E.I. remarked as he pressed the rag against his head, getting warmer with a fall of red over silver and black. No pain lingered on his skin, nor his heart after what had transpired, but thought lay heavy on his mind of what the days to come would be like. Such a reflection was not any lighter on Siegfried, who lay down in the cabin as he breathed out an unspoken burden. Hilde kept herself busy to compensate for whatever needed to be done in the Solzhenitsyn property. Viola stood close by, looking unamused as the wolf eluded her gaze.

Viola said nothing. Her mind was divided on anticipation and the improper nature of Z.W.E.I.'s words.

An uncomfortable silence followed, as a dog barked in the distance.

"You know. I just did not see this coming. I could be forgiven for it, no?" He insisted.

"Just clean yourself. Pyotr will still want you over at the workshop before dinner" Viola answered.

"Since when do you call him that?" He retorted with an amused expression. "You're becoming awfully friendly."

"Shut up"

Night fell on the Russian expanse with no witness for the proverbial honing of the sword other than the stars in their multitudes uncountable, peeking from the windowpane. The sleepless nights seemed bound on the horizon, for a greater number of reasons than communication among the Schwarzwind outposts and restless hands groping for desires unsatisfied. A set of turquoise eyes followed the blade on a vertical line directing north, unsure yet of whether a straight sword fit him better than the novelty of a curved blade alike a scimitar. He felt for the weight of the handle and measured the stability as his wrist struggled to lift the sword on its own – free from any effort on the rest of his arm – to soon discard it in favour for another possibility in the row before him, or any around him. Anxious, though not overwhelmed, Z.W.E.I. beheld the coming dawn from hours in anticipation and hoped to find the one blade to complete his arm the way Kreuzgriff – now rendered unfit for combat and belonging to a rack as a relic – did, seemingly by fateful design.

For he had been granted entry into the cave of wonders, for he had gambled a perilous hand and won, he was now to make wise disposition of the reaping. Pyotr himself had assured them that war was fought in relations of trust just as much as the vanguards on the frontlines; in the long exchange he had with his guests and workers, he had revealed much – confirmed some he hinted and denied the truest most immediate fear dwelling in their being. They had revealed their role to their benefactor and in return, a kindred spirit joined in the cause.

"Soul Edge... I thought I would never hear of it again" Pyotr said with eyes staring beyond the walls and his thumb resting under his lower lip, pressing by instinct next to a small scar in the middle. "Never did fight it myself, nor pursued it, but I saw fools choosing to become stains on its blade." His eyes turned to Hildegard. "More than one kingdom saw its fall though the other side of the hilt, if you know what I am saying."

Hilde's gaze was not reproachful, but maintained on him with the gravity proper of royalty.

"You. You remind me of a pretty woman who was loved by the whole of the Kremlin." Pyotr bent forward. "She did not know how to read nor write, but worked well and plenty, and had the hips to birth a dozen like her. I would like to say those qualities go hand in hand with good instincts. Good nature, probably." His eyes remained on Hilde. "I believed that after knowing her. She was the first of my daughters-in-law." As he stood from his chair, Siegfried and his comrades predicted the turn of his speech. "She was killed at the wrong side of a sword." He said, without a change in his humour. "She really did not have anything worth to steal, but everybody knew it was not an accident."

"I am sorry to know if this." Hilde conceded warmly. "Did she fall from somebody pursuing Soul Edge?"

"Not that I know" Pyotr said to the surprise of his fellows. "I told you we knew it was not an accident. Murder is never an accident. But as I stood with the rest when she was found, throat slashed from ear to ear, I saw the same as everybody else, and it did not matter that she was the wife of my son because it reduced to the obvious. She had done no evil, and evil was done unto her person." His eyes lent attention onto the four as each word produced, rumbling in the silence of the room. "Any who needs the power of the accursed needs it to destroy and pay evil unto those who cannot match him. What was done to Ana will be done a hundred times over. All reasons will lead to only one thing: Vile Murder."

"Pyotr..." Siegfried spoke, meaning to help him at ease, for his voice did betray the choleric anger seething through the corner of his mouth.

"I have led men into death and seen my own steal away for causes that mattered before. I have never fought for this truth I learned." Pyotr said in a tone alike a confession. "I am old now, but I know it as well as I knew in the past. There is evil that must be destroyed. There must be those who live to do that." His eyes fixed on Z.W.E.I. "Milan, have you not done that all your life?"

The question remained in his mind, from the moment Pyotr Solzhenitsyn granted them full disposition of the armoury he had acquired through the years, to dusk following an uncomfortable dinner. He was not haunted by echoing words, but struck in his inability to anticipate it and to acknowledge his own transparency. He was partially grateful for the discretion of his superiors and Viola's very empathy toward him; for all must have known soon after meeting him, with varying responses. But the fear, loathing or admiration he may have earned throughout his lifetime barely eclipsed, or even compared, to the width on one nothing that prevailed: He had not chosen to do what he did for the sake of others' response. He did what he did because he knew, at his very essence, that in being able, he had the responsibility of doing it.

He regretted nothing.

As his eyes scanned the hilt of another blade, a set of ruby eyes stood nearby – scoffing at the thought of her wielding a rapier, of which Pyotr seemed to have aplenty. Only once did her focus from the selection break away from the task at hand; once to see the wolf's eyes on her, stealing away for a blink. She could see in the length of that moment, past the bandage on his head from a minor homestead injury, that he did not look at her anticipating a practice session, not yet.

Thus, the honing of their swords began anew. The next phase would not find them idle.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50: Moscow After Dark – The Ballad of Ksyusha and Milan

Neither the good people in the Kremlin's Possad, nor the evening star saw them once with hands entwined in a grasp of one. With the Solzhenitsyn's sons breathing a song of prosperity anew into the ravaged streets, word had travelled from mouth to mouth on the diligence of a young carpenter and the grace of a caretaker. Cloaked in thick dark bearings, Ksyusha and Milan walked together, with fascinated eyes on every side, and glad tidings wished upon the young betrothed. Darkness sat over Viola's brow as she thought of the rites of Spring for the lovers, which they would be unable to avoid were they to remain stationed still by the time the snows subside. That was, as she learned from her trade, the first manner to cheapen a blossoming union. "That was then" She thought to herself "Even I cannot know..." A final syllable lingered soundless on her lips. Neither the good people in the Kremlin's Possad, nor the evening star saw them once with hands entwined in a grasp of one, for they walked side by side with her arm linked about his, as older lovers often do. Older souls they were, for much they had seen; within hourglasses in the desert , they were brushed by extremes of love and war. This is thus, the Ballad of Ksyusha and Milan.

As night fell on the Russian lands, the winter holidays drew nigh. December was felt in the air with snow and ash before its day, and so, the weeks before Christmas as dictated by Prince Vladimir were a blizzard of a blur for the passage of time. At the coming of festivities, the streets and monasteries filled like tides exceeding the shores. Songs of families and praise emerged from every corner and every window. Lizaveta and Aliosha, daughter and son of Ossip Pyotrevitch Solzhenitsyn had caged both Ksyusha and Milan inside a chain of hands and merry as the children circled around the two that morning before their stroll, and sung the melody for the bride and groom that was passed by memory from their grandmother, Pyotr's wife.

Viola cared little for the sheer gesture, as the mirth of festivities and the people surrounding them seemed to ask her insistently to become Milan's wife on Christmas. However, the affection she bore for Pyotr's grandchildren awoke a timid, compromising smile on her lips. How then would she to dash the mirth, of the children she taught and held dear? She had seen the same manner of smiling on unwilling parties, and never thought she herself would agree to use such a resort. As Z.W.E.I. remained too within the spinning Lizaveta-Aliosha wheel, he avoided the parley. Viola would not seek his eyes then and hardly dared to do so until, arm in arm, they took a walk outside.

And so, the song goes – chanted in soundless speeches of the soul, disembodied, ethereal, ephemeral, and never to be counterspoken.

Autumnwind swept the streets clear,

Lonesome sails whispered not a sound.

The coming storm hesitated and the sun blinked,

For from a feverish dream, life did awake.

And Cassandra, and Tiresias, blind seer

Both wondered on the doom timely found.

No letters on yellow parchment inked,

Or eloping promises, or sweetened heartache.

Somewhere bards can never tell,

Eurydice, hopeless never fell.

Somewhere dreams dare never speak,

Odysseus, Penelope did ever seek.

Viola had achieved exceptional erudition, and every age of her life had given unto the countless fables in her knowledge. Though she understood it well, she never found true enjoyment in the Classics; Aristotle's poetics – she believed instinctively – fathered all that lived, but bringing about the presence of Gods of Hellenic traditions, and Old Mediterranean had become but a fancy to her. So this song went – of scholars looking out from windowpanes at inns standing by the shore, and she knew it well. She did want the streets on the port cleared out in windy evenings, for Z.W.E.I. and her only to walk, but the tune missed something.

Something greener and alive, unlike the legends of old the song sought to revive.

Alas, she wanted no more of the playwrights' images, not for as long as they walked under the sun setting. Lovely comedies that had seduced smirks from reluctant lips, and tragedies to prove her right in her coldness; neither had a place on the night she sought to live.

For all she had read, and all she had predicted as part of her craft – she could not write the ballad to fit their stride. All she could think of was a return to that which she needed to depart from – the dead and the grey.

It had taken a spontaneous look into an untold future to sing something she wanted him to hear; something unbound from the grey imagery permeating the world.

And then it came to be, with not a melody, nor a metre or a rhyme.

Sullen ashen, crystallised,

Our time has come,

Where are you? Where are you?

Shadows come,

And stare like bats.

Walk on this road

As we have thus far.

Never thought the city's ghosts

Could crumble down to join the sea.

Brick at a time, we know naught anymore;

Waves are cloud, and death is life.

You are me, I am you.

Fire breathing, cannons weep.

Our time has come,

Hold my hand, catch my breath.

I've no fear,

Will not repent.

Walk on this road,

For Heaven or Hell.

Never thought pain and suffering

Could be so dwarfed, and light.

Day at a time, the world burns;

Yet beauty lives in one breath,

Yours and mine.

People grew scarce on the streets at their sides and the sun setting had utterly brushed by without a sigh, nor a sight from them. All was black and so Viola knew the song needed no more. Had she been a dark haired Romanian with eyes of spring and he a pale rider; had she been an Irish fiddler and he a weary-footed Moor, it would have mattered not; eyes would be still be locked ahead in finding the light where others saw dark, and the same voices would giggle at their return.

Lizaveta.

Aliosha.

Viola dared not think it twice, for even the very sound of her mind's tongue made her blush. She held on tighter to Z.W.E.I.'s arm as they walked back to Solzhenytsin's quarters. Celebration was due to take place; there would be food, drink and music. There may be dancing, there may be a ripple of days long past, of their earliest travelling.

"We have come a long way." Viola said.

Z.W.E.I. said nothing. He looked down lovingly, with the strands of his beard shining from candle light.

As they reached the familiar sight, the children ran out to meet them at the entrance. Lizaveta, Aliosha; girl and boy who had so grown dear to them. The darkness on the side of their stroll shifted to the edges of a bridge crossing the waters of a nameless river; the surface shone a denser blue than deep waters, moonlight glistened in the wind. Viola knew this was not their time.

A male voice sung in the grasp of her mind, strange music reverberated all about. None could hope to live long enough to hear this song come to be; she felt lucky she could listened to it ages before, felt luckier even that she felt the words touch so closely. "If only he could hear..."

God sent the only true friend I call mine

And pretend that I'll make amends the next time

Befriend the glorious end of the line

And I thank you for bringing me here

For showing me home

For singing these tears

Finally I've found that I belong here

Z.W.E.I. felt the fingers on his left hand twitch in anxiety in the pocket of his coat, the warmth of her coated arm entwined about his did not ease his nerve. Alas, he knew it was no time to ruin his song to come.

It was eight in the evening, and the first song was now reaching its end. On to the second...


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51: Moscow after Dark – The Wandering Seer / Dance of the Oracle

Viola's eyes sought the children as she walked back into Solzhenytsyn's house. Her hand left Z.W.E.I.'s grasp and the seams and folds of her black dress brushed chairs and furnishings as she walked further in. People's faces were flushed under bright candles and slightly about an air of vodka, and cognac given as a gift among some merchants. Yes, under silver curls she could hear the children's voices. Lizaveta tried singing, but snickered at something Aliosha had said, the boy still teased his sister at times but she was hardly ever bemused. Viola walked further into a hallway, brushing knees with seams and folds on her black dress, earning herself the gaze of men along the way; whatever lust and lecher they held for silver Ksyusha dwarfed in comparison to the respect and admiration they held for her. Some of their children had too been taught by her since she took on the Solzhenytsyn cubs' teaching; they too would follow her as she passed by.

The bowing of heads at her presence was a sight uncommon to her. It was an unspoken habit that she herself had to bow her head at the passing and presence of men, even under the roof of her mother – or especially, perhaps. Many men sought Marie's counsel on matters they could or would not see by themselves. Even if given a service, the seers were required to muffle the blade, in peril of prides being wounded or reputations even slightly tarnished at being seen under the roof of women like Marie and that odd pale girl of hers. So much could be said through something as simple, and Viola soon learned to hate it. Even after her mother erased her daughter's memories in hopes of saving her from a fate untold, her contempt for bowing her head remained as an instinctive brand. Each fortune was given with a humble gesture that tasted sour after her laconic riddles.

And yet, here the men and women bowed their heads to her. By that time, in that place, she was aware that it was not more a humble gesture, than one of recognition and respect. They were no better or worse, but equal, and much to her own surprise, she felt some discreet mirth from it. And still, here the men and women bowed their heads to her and she found it hardly ordinary.

When at last she found Lizaveta and Aliosha by a window looking outside into the darkened yard, a chill ran down Viola's spine. The scene of a lit chamber shifted violently into Parisian streets, yielding forward into narrow stretches, faded grey and nigh flooding from a deluge on her shoulders and the city. She was a few centimetres shorter and her argent ringlets tickled her forearms. There must still have been some green about her eyes then, to be consumed by a red tint of magic. Viola knew nothing, remembered nothing, saw nothing beyond the streets, but could hear the sound of violins. Her body ached from an exhaustion she knew not the reason for, and she turned her head with the most awkward of motions.

Violins and a word. In crescendo, and down a slope, polyphony and counterpoint. Violins and a letter. The cold of the rain stole her breath away, she could see it escaping from her in a puff as she exhaled. All the while, her ears clung to the sound of the violins, the melody eluded her, but the strength of sound was an anchor into an uttering.

For dear life, she held on. But the world danced around her in all savagery, for gone was the fondness she had for hearing the sound of rain against her windowpane, gone was the soft wind that spun her chime and gone was the whistle to which she would reply back with a whistle of her own and a giggle under old sheets. For dear life she held on to the word, to the letter. A word, a name for God in the eyes and hearts of all children; were she to lose it, what then, would be of poor little Viola?

"M-m-mhhh!" She heaved. "Mah... m-ma." Violently the cold and the shiver stole the air from her lungs, she gasped. "Ma... maaaaa..." At each passing second, the wind menaced to break her. The word was at hand, but without realising it, she let go of it. One tear rolling down her face, mingled with the pouring rain, and so too was the word lost to her.

Instinctively, she braced herself and started to walk for cover. She realised then of the bag at her feet, and in it she found a choker of ruby, one she never let go of. Only a child, the words and memories stolen from her would leave a hollow that could only be soothed through a hastened womanhood. Before her first blood, Viola had walked a myriad past her infancy. Under the rain, with emptiness in her eyes, she walked bracing herself, so tightly, until the violins stopped and brushing strings filled the air. Spicy strings, foreigner than a guitar.

The chill had passed and she was sat at a chair, with Lizaveta sitting on her lap, tightly braced by Viola's own arms. The girl was comfortable enough, with her head on Ksyusha's chest and also looking at the man sitting opposite them. He had a balalaika and was ready to play for all in Solzhenytsyn's abode.

"Right, I am not a good singer. I am not being humble. Do not ask me to sing." Z.W.E.I. addressed men, women and children alike. "I made this song some days ago and I have no name for it." The man all knew as Milan smirked and brushed the strings once more. Then he started playing his tune.

Z.W.E.I. was skilled with the instrument; that much she could tell from the beginning. The song began like a ballad – a song of a lesser art to hear by hearth fire and under the eyes and grin of Dionysus. Slow and mellow with sudden outbursts of Eastern-sounding whim. Though his fingers were unhesitant, his eyes dared not look away from them. Viola had met many heartbroken artists during the practice of her trade, and each and all may have sung a tune not unlike Z.W.E.I.'s, but pain was not the carrying card for the wolf. Each of her heartbeats sought a gap to destroy all rhythm, as chords alternated the world before her.

Black and white, Solzhenytsyn's quarters and a rainy street. Flashing in and out of existence before her eyes; black and white, grey and gold, Z.W.E.I on a chair and a nameless world extending beyond the reach of sight, flashing in and out of time.

Something in the corner of her eye, a creeping sound etching itself into cognition. On that rainy day, she lost the word for her mother and gained an uttering of futures to come, stronger each day. For the dawning of her gift was fresh still, it was mere instinct which signalled her to run away from that place, when a blast echoed behind her and her past was no more. The feelings from that rainy day would too fade with time.

A blast, an unknown fate, violently triggered before its time, and then another, and another. Z.W.E.I. struck the strings like beats to a drum to which all clapped in unison. Lizaveta wondered why Ksyusha would not even attempt clapping herself. Still without looking away from the strings, he stood up and hastened his hand until the ballad was no more. People began to dance as Z.W.E.I. continued to play his song.

Something inside of Viola blasted as well. All the days that she spent running away from that blast, following the design of her mother to protect her daughter, were grey and empty. But to live was to unravel the weaving, and now, at the doorstep of epiphany, her eyes and his eyes met at last.

He had been right to call her a 'kindred spirit'.

As Viola, Ksyusha as all knew her, stood from the chair, the people around were but shadows dancing in the chamber. The eyes of her comrades were on her as well, as she started to dance.

While every other at the chamber danced with another, she sought not a companion, for she already had one, as she did not let go of Lizaveta's little hand, and her grasp was not too tight nor too loose – not unlike a mother's. And on they spun to the cadence of Z.W.E.I.'s balalaika. The child giggled and blushed with the glee only an innocent soul can brandish, and taken aback by excitement, young Lizaveta's eyes remained shut tight, as she imagined as scene of spring unfolding around her. As for Viola's expression itself, most everybody would have seen something similar in the face of a joyful drunken maid, but in the woman's wild eyes, flushed cheeks and open unmoving mouth, the wolf saw a rapturous scene taking place. There was naught he could do but play on, quicken the tempo, deepen the reds, spicing the air more festive; and she only continued to dance to a beat commanded by her steps and the strings, and clapping, singing and cheering obeyed both the Moon and the Wolf whom howled for her light.

Viola was submerged in her very own element. In the moon she saw everything, the red hues of wine, of blood, love and hatred. The knowledge, unnatural yet blessed of brief, past and fugacious lives filled and shook her, and often – without her being aware of it – flooded her being and left her frigid, barely able to feel. She had thought herself empty for a long time, alas she had only been blinded.

War, love, a sense of duty and responsibility; these were the forces that had restored her spirit to the point of knowing her self as herself indeed. The sense of epiphany was delayed into moments of inspiration, and the zenith came, for all to see and only two to understand, by grace of the Dance of the Oracle.

Viola, Ksyusha, the woman with the hair kissed by the moon and eyes by roses, danced with many that night. Z.W.E.I., Milan, he was the last dancing partner as mirth flooded the night. Both were too tired to dance properly by that moment, but a raging round of applause ensued when they did embrace. Amidst the mirth of improvised serenades and ballads – some familiar to both Z.W.E.I. and Viola -, the applause and the children laughing, they heard a brief and subtle sound of fluttering wings.

"I need some air." Z.W.E.I. said to her.


End file.
